Apostasy
by Eirian1
Summary: Sheppard pursues those responsible for Teyla's death. The Elder Queen struggles after her defeat. Michael begins to undo the harm suffered in captivity. Each must decide their true loyalties, and for some, that means irrevocable change VS5 No.10 NC17
1. Act 1

Author's disclaimer: I do not own _Stargate Atlantis_ and its associated characters. MGM does, for which, for the most part, they have my utmost respect. No copyright infringement is intended in writing these stories.

My deepest respect also goes to the talented actors that brought to life the characters we see in _Stargate Atlantis._ My portrayal of the characters here is based on my perception of the work of Joe Flanigan, Jason Momoa, Rachel Luttrell, Paul McGillion, David Hewlett, Robert Picardo, Connor Trinneer and Christopher Heyerdahl. Without these people and those that came before them, there would have been no _Atlantis_ as we know it today.

With the exception of personal interpretation and expansions, extracts from existing episodes of the series remain the copyright of the story and teleplay writers: Joe Mallozzi, Paul Mullie, Brad Wright, Robert C Cooper, Martin Gero, Mary Kaiser, Damian Kindler, Peter DeLuise, Jill Blotevogel, Carl Binder, Kerry Glover, Sean Carley, Treena Hancock, Melissa R. Byer, Joe Flanigan, Don Whitehead, Holly Henderson, Ken Cuperus, Scott Nimerfro, Alan McCullough, Alex Levine, and David Schmidt.

Other assorted original characters (i.e. those that don't really appear in the show) are my own creation, and they, along with the original material presented here are © Eirian Phillips 2009.

Story is rated for mature readers, according to whatever rating system is adopted these days for Fan Fiction. It changes on a site by site basis… It was so much easier way back when…

There may be other virtual seasons of _SGA_ out there in cyberspace. Some may even be unofficially official. However, as a writer, I don't believe that this should discourage others from having their own ideas about things. Mine are presented here.

Characters and events are purely fictitious, and any similarity to anyone living, transformed, dead, cloned or in any alternate universe or timeline is entirely coincidental.

**Stargate Atlantis**

**Apostasy**

To Change a Heart, Understand It

_"Do you not recall our last encounter? How you left me to die on that desolate planet? The Hive that finally rescued me -- they could tell something was different. They sensed the Human in me. To them, I was unclean. I barely escaped that Hive with my life. So now I find myself hunted by both Humans and Wraith. So you can understand my need to protect myself -- to survive."_

_"It did not have to be like this. You could have lived with us."_

_"As a Human? My consciousness erased by your retrovirus? No. I will live the rest of my life as I choose. But I can't do it alone."_

_Michael and Teyla - Vengeance_

**Previously On _Stargate Atlantis_:**

His voice cracked as he looked across the woven pallet on which Teyla's possessions, including the little hand carved crib, had been reverently placed, waiting for the time when – in lieu of her body – they would be carried through the Gate to the settlement of her people, to lie in state, before the pyre would take them all; reduce them to ash and dust that was all that remained of the woman herself, floating endlessly in the vast cold of space.

"Two days," Sheppard said. "Forty-eight hours… two thousand, eight hundred, eighty minutes. One hundred, seventy-two thousand, eight hundred seconds… since we lost Teyla… and I've lived… every single one of them in a darkness… deeper for knowing the absence of her gentle presence in this galaxy…"

**

Burning… The whole of his flesh was dissolving in the fire of a bitter maelstrom that had taken root inside of him. His dreams were dark and too confused to even grasp the edges of any sense to wrap around them.

Quickly, he threw back the soaked covers, and turned to put his head into his hands, as the familiar darkness of his quarters, and the bubbling hum of the city of Atlantis wrapped her comfort around him… and when he could stand, he padded to the bathroom to remove the evidence of his night terrors.

**

"I'm not asking you to tell me anything, Carson, I just want you to listen. If I'm being stupid then fine, frankly, I'll be glad, but I'm going crazy right now because I can't stop worrying about it and just… I've gotta tell someone. I can't tell Sheppard because whether or not I'm right or wrong won't matter, he'll just go… tearing off after Todd and likely end up getting himself killed. Ronon too, but—"

"All right," Carson said and picked up his tea cup. "Go on."

"I told you before that I thought that Todd might have either fed on Jennifer or forced himself on her, but… I think it's more complicated than that," he said.

"How so?" Carson asked around a sip of cooling tea.

"Well, you know?" McKay shifted in his seat and Carson thought he looked slightly constipated as he said, "that thing the Wraith can do, the way they can… mess with your mind…?"

He nodded, as noncommittally as he could, trying hard not to remember the touch of Michael's mind inside his own, and hoping his expression would encourage McKay to keep talking.

"I worry that's what he did to Jen, that he somehow… manipulated her, I mean… she was so… goddamn… defensive whenever I mentioned anything to do with Todd. It's like… like she was…"

"Trying to keep her private life private?"

"Carson!" McKay's raised voice brought more than a few stares their way. He looked around before leaning over the table to hiss at Carson, "You can't possibly condone that, you—"

"What I'm saying is that it doesn't matter what you or I think," Carson said firmly. "What matters is what _Jennifer_ thinks, how _she_ perceives it. The only time it becomes my business to make a judgement is when it starts to involve medical issues."

"But that's just it," McKay said, his face creasing from indignation to worry. "Look at what's just happened. What if it does, Carson?"

**

The serum flooded into him like icy fire. Michael could track its progress as it burst as an ache inside his head and down to squeeze his heart as if some massive bellows worked to crush him. After only a laboured breath, the pain of it began.

He clenched his teeth against the bubbling and churning that began deep inside him, but all too soon the intensity of the agonising change that was sweeping over him, and through him, overcame his resistance. He cried out, "I will kill you for this… all of you!"

But even the defiant cries became wordless as the agony took hold, as his transformation accelerated, and even above his own screams he could hear the crackling and popping of his bones, sinews and flesh.

**

She caught him by the elbows as his strength began to fail, even as he tried to brace himself against the wall behind her.

"What have they done to you?" she gasped softly, sinking down with him as he came to his knees.

Dismayed, she ran her eyes over his altered, injured form, from his short cropped, bone white hair, over his face, fully reverted now, the butterfly shape around his eyes swollen and bruised as if from many beatings. His lips were thin and bloodless, over his pointed teeth, and were parted in pain as he tried to catch his breath.

She could not stop herself from taking in the sight of the all of him. Her eyes passed over the blackened, hardened patch of Iratus-like skin on the side of his neck, over the filthy blood stained shirt to the twisted, painful looking swelling of his hands and fingers.

Tears for him welled in her eyes, and releasing his elbow as he swayed, dangerously close to falling, she caught his side briefly, and he hissed with added pain. She pulled her hand away again, wet with his blood.

"Nothing… that cannot…" he gasped softly, moving to support himself against her shoulder, his grasp tightening. "…be undone."

**

"McKay! Go!" Ronon's voice cut above the cacophony of the battle. "We can't get pinned here – go!"

"But Halling—" McKay yelled in answer.

"Leave Halling to me," Ronon growled, already moving the Athosian's way, not stopping the onslaught of his blaster as he moved. "Beckett, go!"

Everything slowed down; as if time itself were dilating to show, step by sordid step, the moment that everything went wrong. The leading sub-commander raised his weapon, and high sound warbled, distorted, through the air. The flash at the muzzle of the Wraith blaster he held was like the opening of some exotic, but deadly flower, spitting its venom into the almost safety of space that Ronon and Halling had made for themselves.

Ronon stumbled, as if pushed from behind by the one remaining drone that Halling still fought. The stumble became a fall as the big man toppled forward, a spray of red erupting in the space beside and before him.

**

"Come with me," he said urgently. "You know as well as I do, Colonel Sheppard will not make it back aboard this Hive."

"You know he will try," she said anxiously.

"Then he, too, will meet his end," Michael said finally. He let go of her then, turning to lean heavily against the scout ship as he joined his hybrid in returning fire against the drones. "Live or die, Teyla. Time to choose."

**

"When Michael returned me to Atlantis people here whom I thought my friends failed to believe that what I was telling them was true. Their mistrust became untenable. Their treatment was… uncalled for at best and an insult to my right to privacy at its worse level. During that time, Carson, I truly came to understand his plight."

"Michael's?" he queried softly, knowing somehow that between the two of them there would be no deception, no hiding sophistry, just the naked, honest truth.

"Yes," she said, and he sighed, looking down.

"We treated him abominably, Teyla," he said and heard in his own voice the sorrow that gripped him, the sorrow and the shame.

"Then, Carson, why?" she said, her voice a fervent hissed question and she reached out to grasp him by the wrist. "I have always known you to be a good and honourable man; your grasp on the justice of a situation strong. What… possessed you—?"

"You know," Carson started, his soft voice cutting her off. He sighed then, not sure how to go on. "Your understanding, your empathy, your… compassion… it means a lot to him."

Teyla shook her head. "Not enough," she said and there was no mistaking the hurt and anger in her voice, but he knew her well enough to hear that there was more beneath it, and looked at her softly, but challenging none-the-less, until she said, her voice full of anxiousness and emotion, "He has my child, Carson, my _son_. He took my people, made them into… into _things_ to do his bidding; he— Hundreds of thousands of people are sick and _dying_ because of what he has done."

Carson got up from his stool and walked to stand behind her, wrapping his arms gently around her shoulders and rested his chin against the top of her head, to say softly, "And you're sitting here thinking: how could I love such a monster? You and I both know there's more to it than that."

"_We_ did this," she cried. "We _drove_ him to this."

"And there it is," Carson said, tears coming to his own eyes, "The truth that only you and I will ever dare to voice; to accept and understand. The Athosians… and all those hundreds of thousands of people infected with the Hoffan protein… the millions that will die in the war to come… their blood is on our hands. Mine as the geneticist that perfected the Hoffan drug and the architect of the retrovirus that created Michael, and on yours for bringing me the Wraith he used to be."

**

Malcolm banked the scout ship at breakneck speeds through the ongoing battle, rolling to avoid an incoming salvo from an enemy Dart and returning fire, flying straight through the blossoming fire and debris of the destroyed craft as he made his way back to the Hive.

That he had successfully carried the Queen to safety was small comfort. There was one that remained aboard the Hive that his honour demanded he find.

He rolled again, pulling up sharply to avoid a collision, and saw the enemy Hive full on, and for the first time noticed the spire-like attachment to the forward section of the hull, and the slight glow surrounding it as the energy began to gather to a single point at the head of the spire.

Recognition hit with the force of dread so great he barely remembered to breathe and he reached out with all the urgency he could muster to find the mind of the Hive Commander.

_{Commander you must listen to me} {listen to me} {listen to me} {listen to me} {the hive is in danger} {danger} {danger} {danger} {you must lower the shields} {lower the shields} {lower the shields}_

**

"_Doctor Beckett, this is Teyla. I will not make it to you in time. You must leave without me. Take Ronon to safety_."

"Teyla!"

"_I am sorry, John_," Teyla's voice sounded in his ear. In her voice he could hear a mixture of sadness and resolve, but also fear. "_There is no other way_."

"_Find_ a way," he insisted. "I won't leave you here, Teyla. Not chasing shadows."

"_I will find an alternate means of escaping the Hive_," she told him, sounding almost desperate. "_Please, go. Save Ronon_."

**

Spiralling out of control, spinning toward the planet's atmosphere, Malcolm embraced the pain flowing through him. Trembling… hissing in agony he fought for the control to slow his ship; achieve a safe velocity for re-entry into the atmosphere so that he could join the survivors… assist the Queen in rebuilding for the future.

Desolate, breathing in snatches he managed to commit the only act possible; the only act necessary and demanded of a Wraith in such a position as he.

_{Mmmy Queen} {my Queen} {my Queen} {my Queen} {I am coming. do not despair} {despair} {despair} {despair}_

**

"Damn it, Sheppard, we have to move!" McKay's hands started flying over the console, abandoning the cloak in favour of being able to use the weapons to blast an escape route away from the Elder Hive. "The Hive's going critical. If we get caught in the blast, we—"

"No!" Sheppard yelled, as McKay tried to wrest control of the Jumper from his native ATA gene. It was as much in denial of what was happening as to prevent McKay from piloting the Jumper away. "Teyla, this is Sheppard. Please respond."

Nothing.

"McKay open a channel to that Hive. Teyla, this is Sheppard. You need to get the hell out of there. You need to get out now!"

"You're on," McKay told him sharply.

"Todd, this is Sheppard," he said urgently, barely pausing for breath. "If you can hear me, stand down! I repeat, stand down. I have people on that Hive!"

Teyla's voice sounded again, so broken as to be unintelligible, even with McKay's obvious efforts to clear up the signal.

"Damn it!" Sheppard spat, and tried to turn the Jumper back toward the Hive.

"What… are you insane!" McKay asked. "We'll never get her off in time be—"

"Todd, you sorry son-of-a-bitch, answer me! Stand down!"

Sheppard wasn't listening to McKay's protests. A member of his team was in danger, and in his book, no one gets left behind.

"Teyla, this is Sheppard. Respond."

"_John, can… …_" Teyla's broken voice crackled through the speakers, _"…fire. … need… assistance_."

"Teyla, this is—"

A bright, yellow tipped inferno erupted beside them, inside of _him_. Filling him with agony, pushing him beyond the limits of anything he could endure. He practically punched the console as he abandoned what little mental control he still possessed and grabbed the manual sticks, banding the craft and accelerating to maximum.

It wasn't enough.

From the rear compartment the fizzling crack of exploding crystal blowing out the panel became a deafening cascade of sound, and then… everything dissolved into the whiteness of nothing.

**

"Find peace, Teyla," he whispered as he stepped up to the event horizon. "Four years is penance aplenty. You've suffered long enough… find peace now…"

And with a breath, and closing his eyes to send his wishes out into whatever powers might hear and grant his plea for her among the stars of the Pegasus Galaxy, Carson stepped into the wormhole, letting the cooling liquid rush of it surround him and bring him, for just a moment, that which he craved for Teyla.

***

_"Whoever did this will pay. I will make certain of it."_

_Teyla – Missing_

**Act 1**

Rain beat against the darkened windows. It had been raining almost continuously since Sheppard and the others had returned from the Athosian settlement. It sounded like an incessant hissing to him and he hated it; unable to ignore the similarity it bore to the occult hiss inside his mind – where, even now, _she_ hadn't let him go.

The latest nightmare haunted him still, even as he paced wakefully. It had been an almost physical pain, the thrust of demands that were now impossible for him to fulfil. Teyla was gone – vaporised – and no demand or punishment that could be visited upon him would make him able to deliver her to the comforts, colder than death, that he had no doubt that one wished to lavish upon her.

"I can't," he murmured as he paced. It became almost a litany, punctuated by the harsher fall of needle-sharp raindrops against the window. "Can't-I-can't-I can't…"

They hadn't come to him. Not one of them had sought him out to talk, to unload the grief they so obviously suffered. It made him feel pushed away. Even the report of the loss of the Hive – so welcome to him for the freedom he'd thought it represented, even with the price they had all paid – had been perfunctory; grudging at best. Did they know? Had they guessed his aberrant behaviour, rash decisions and change of heart in many things were the result of his complicity…? It worried him that they had, but he had no choice. It was either that or—

"I don't have a choice," his voice became more desperate as the words he muttered changed. "No-choice-no-choice. I can't-I can't…"

**

Even the dim light of the home in which her commanders had established her chambers was too bright and the Elder Queen hissed in the pain that stabbed into the depth of her mind whenever she opened her eyes.

She sweated and strained against the fevers that wracked her, barely soothed even under the careful, reverent ministrations her handmaidens ceaselessly gave to her. She moaned, lashing out wildly to catch one of those loyal worshippers a blow that sliced across the top of the woman's shoulder.

"Where _is_ he?" the Queen demanded, shifting her hand until she could grab the soft fabric of the dress the Human wore. Its weave caressed her aching, weeping hand, and she moaned again.

"My Queen?" the young woman queried softly. "Tell me who it is you wish for and I will see to it that he is found and brought before you."

The young woman then ran her fingers into the Queen's unbound hair, to massage soothing circles against the tightness of her skull, merely a brief respite against the madness.

"My Commander!" the Queen cried, pushing away the furs they'd used to cover her, suddenly hot, suffering and drenched in the evidence of her fevers. "My Second! They have forsaken me!"

The handmaidens laid trembling, restraining hands against her body as she sought to rise. She could feel their fear; smell the stink of it, and she fought them, hating the weakness that bound her to the straw filled mattress that they had covered with the softest fabrics they could find to try, she knew, to provide her with a similar comfort to that which she expected.

"No, my Queen," the older of the handmaidens purred softly, passing gentle fingers through her tangled hair. "You are not abandoned. They forsake you not. Their duty demands only that they work tirelessly to secure this community for your safety. Let us bring them to you, my Queen."

"Yes," the Queen gasped, lost once more; pulled down into the delirium that had gripped her since the destruction of her Hive. "Yes, bring them. _Bring_ them… I need them. _Need_… need them."

**

Jethera looked up as the handmaiden in charge of them grasped her wrist. The other woman gave her a worried look.

"Go, Jethera," she whispered, as if she did not wish for the Queen to hear. "Find either one of them and explain to them what happens here. Her fever will not break, she is gripped in madness. I do not know what we must do. I fear to lose her."

Jethera nodded, taking another look at the Queen as she writhed atop the bed, her pain and suffering clear. She swallowed hard.

"But, you—"

"We will manage," the other woman said. "Yours will be the difficult task. Go."

She wasted no more time in argument, the urgency of the situation was clear. She must find one of the commanders and bring him to help the Queen, and if that meant that she was punished for interrupting them, so be it.

Fearfully she slipped from the house, out into the equal chaos of the street. The drones still worked to marshal the prisoners – marked to be either new worshippers or a necessary food supply, most likely both, for the dispossessed Wraith – into locations that could be guarded more easily.

Other drones and sub-commanders alike directed incoming Darts to land in the fields beyond the village. Though they were many, Jethera knew that if an enemy Hive came upon them before arrangements could be made to bring their allied cruisers back to their position, they would be the last defence. Their position was desperate, and it was a wonder that, without the strength of the Queen to direct them, there was not more chaos than she saw.

Someone must be holding the Wraith together, and glancing toward the house wherein she knew she would find the Queen's Commander, she had her doubts that it was he. Instead she searched around among the other tall commanders that she could see, searching for one among them who might, at least, be reasonable to her approach, though rumour had it that since the destruction of the Hive, the Second had become a harsher, more forbidding Wraith.

Not looking where she was going, Jethera collided with the work-hardened muscular bodies of two of the Handlers.

"Where are you going, Handmaiden?" one asked, grasping her arms. "The streets are not a place for you. Your duty is to our Queen."

"It is at the Queen's behest that I walk this street," she answered, lowering her gaze, respectful of their authority, even over _her_. "I seek the Second."

The Handler shook his head. "He is in the field, with the others, organising repairs to the Darts. He will not have time for—"

"Then he must _make_ time," Jethera said urgently. "The Queen has need of him."

"You should go first to her Commander," the other Handler said.

Jethera snorted, not caring that they saw her disrespect for that one.

"You and I both know that the Commander hides behind his concubine from all that has come to pass," she snapped. "If I disturb him now, I will be lucky to escape with my life and still the Queen will be wanting of her Commander."

She watched as both Handlers sighed, unable to deny her words.

"Still, protocol demands that you should go to him first," one of them said finally.

"Protocol be damned! My duty is to our Queen, not to the appeasement of a mere male's ego!" she said vehemently. "Take me to the Second."

**

Breathing hard, Sheppard caught hold of the punching bag to halt its relentless swing. His already bruised hands ached, his muscles burned and still he couldn't banish the thoughts and images from his mind.

It was late. He should be sleeping. Instead he was down there, in the gym, the one place where almost everything reminded him of Teyla. He couldn't leave it like this. He hadn't been able to do anything to save his friend, but there was _one _thing he could do – had to do. It was only right.

Letting go of the bag, he reached over and grabbed the towel from the bench, wondering if McKay was still awake, or if the scientist could even begin to help him try and track Michael's people.

And Todd, he thought darkly…

The other Hive had made the jump into hyperspace even before the brightness of the explosion that still haunted his waking and dreaming had faded, and there had been no answer to his desperate hails. It had been the weapon that Todd had used against Michael's cruiser before that had destroyed the Elder Hive, of that Sheppard had no doubt, and since he knew of no other Wraith faction that had that kind of weapon than Todd's, then he had to be responsible… and for what he had done, Sheppard would make him pay.

He started for the door, not even bothering to radio ahead. If he had to he'd get McKay out of bed. This couldn't wait. He had to do something, and working out until he collapsed from exhaustion didn't at all constitute the kind of something that would, in any way, help to assuage the pain of his guilt.

**

Malcolm fired instructions at the pairs of drones faster than the sub-commander working along side of him could easily follow. He could tell the other Wraith was floundering from the uncertainty of the mental contact between them – the neural connection was fragmented. It was clear that none among these Wraiths had ever spent any significant time away from the shelter of a Hive.

He glanced up to the Darts flying defensive patterns overhead, and to those coming in to join the garrison on the ground. There were so many unaccounted for, his head spun with the attempt to keep up… and that was just among the Wraith.

Malcolm let out a soft hiss as his pain increased with the thought, an empty hollow in his gut that filled him with a kind of dread that he could not quite explain, but which gripped him none the less. He could not allow himself this weakness, not when so much could hinge on the cohesion of those around him, should an enemy faction find them so vulnerable.

Sensing someone behind him, he turned to find a trio of Humans, two Handlers and one of the Queen's handmaidens.

"Speak," he instructed.

"Forgive the intrusion, Lord," one of the Handlers said quietly, "but this woman insists that she must speak with you."

"We would not have brought her but—"

He looked past the men to the tense, almost tearful expression on the young woman's face, and without another thought waved the Handlers away, before holding out his hand to the woman even as they turned to leave.

"Walk with me," he instructed, waiting until she slipped her cold fingers onto the palm of his outstretched hand. He steadied her as they began to move over the uneven ground, away from the others.

"Lord," she said softly, "it is the Queen. I would not trouble you otherwise, as I know you see to our safety, but it is as though she sickens… and she has asked for her Commander, or for you."

"Sickens?" he asked softly.

"As with a fever," she answered. "And what she says makes little sense, and from time to time she will contort as if in pain."

"She reacts to the loss of the Hive," he said with a sigh. He had seen it before and suspected that the severity of it was compounded by her Zenith, which she held to still. She needed to be grounded – given a solid presence of mind on which she could focus. "Has the Commander not come to her?"

He saw the handmaiden look away and ascertained the answer to his question was a negative one. He could make a reasonable guess as to what kept the Commander from his Queen. It angered him, and his grip tightened on the Human woman's hand.

"Lord…" she gasped softly.

He took a breath to try and calm himself, but his mind was a maelstrom of anger and contempt. Twice had the Commander neglected his duties – his Queen – for the physicality of his Human concubine.

"Return to the Queen," he instructed the handmaiden, "try to keep her quiet and calm. I will come as soon as I am able."

He released her then, and watched as she made her way back toward where he knew they had housed the Queen. He stood without moving, without taking his eyes off the retreating figure of the worshipper, as he reached out with his mind, strengthening his presence within the neural connection between the Wraith.

If he had to make his move against the Commander, though he was not ready, he would need their loyalty.

**

As the door closed behind them, Michael sagged against the supporting presence of his hybrid, who had brought him to private quarters, following the instructions that he had left as though they had been given only yesterday, not long months ago.

The serum had long since worn off, leaving him weakened and feeling the pain of his injuries more acutely than before. Such had been the price, but it was one that he had no choice but to pay in order to escape the Elder Hive.

So high a price…

Too high…

As the hybrid eased him to the top of the bed, lay him down where he could be tended, treated for those hurts that marred his body, his mind keened for that which was lost.

"Leave me," he gasped. "Go!"

**

The hybrid knew better than to disobey. He knew that once the pain had dulled; once time had taken the beast in hand, it would serve back all of the emotions in the cold dish called revenge. The Wraith, the Elder Queen, they would pay for what they had done, but he also knew that, aboard their own Hive, on which they served _The Cause_, it would be a long time before they would settle to the relative comfort of emotional ease – if ever.

He paused outside the door, watching as the two soldiers came closer, coming from the Dart Bay, through corridors that he had cleared in order to be able to move he-that-led-them. The one they led between them tugged indignantly on their restraining arms.

"Release her," he instructed as they reached him. "She is here as our guest, not as our prisoner,"

_At least for now_. He couldn't help the thought that followed, hard on the heels of his orders to them.

He watched as she rubbed at her wrists where their grasp had been overzealous. Someone would pay for that as well – if _he_ noticed.

"He's inside," he told her softly. "I'll bring you what you'll need. I doubt he'll allow any other hand to tend him."

**

"Where are we going?"

Already aware of the Hive enough to know that they were travelling in hyperspace, Teyla looked between the door and the hybrid that had enabled their escape from the Elder Hive.

"We are following his standing instructions," the hybrid answered, drawing himself up straighter as he addressed her. "If he wants you to know, he will tell you himself."

She sighed in irritation. She might have expected such an answer from Michael's people, but her irritation gave way to worry as the hybrid opened the door for her and stood out of her way so that she could enter.

She didn't even notice when the door closed behind her. All of her attention was focussed on Michael, curled as he was, on his side, protecting the wound low on his belly.

She crossed the room to kneel beside the bed and laid a gentle hand on his back.

"Teyla…" he whispered, opening his eyes as her hand came to rest against him.

"I am here," she told him, looking him over.

"Do not…" he gasped, but his voice failed at the end of the sentence as he grimaced in pain.

"Try not to speak," Teyla told him softly, "He has said he will bring what is needed in order to help you. Just rest."

"No," Michael gasped, and as she started to move, closed his long-fingered, pale hand around her wrist. "You. You must—"

"You. Must. Rest," she interrupted. It wasn't that she didn't want to know what he was going to say as much as she was afraid for him. She knew how much he was hurting, could feel the pain come off him, as close as they were, physically, to one another after so long. "There is nothing more to be done."

**

"Come _on_, McKay," Sheppard snapped at him, pacing.

McKay rubbed his eyes and then looked up from the computer to fix Sheppard with a withering stare.

"You know, if someone hadn't dragged me out of bed at some ungodly hour in the morning," he said, "perhaps what's left of these _horribly fragmented_ sensor records would make more sense."

"I need to know where they are, McKay," Sheppard said, and McKay felt as if he hadn't been heard at all. "We gotta keep tabs on the survivors of that Hive, and I owe it to Teyla to finish what she started… find Michael's people so that we can find her son."

"Sheppard, you've lost your mind!" McKay snapped. "Even if I could piece together the Daedalus' sensor records to find out what's happened to the Wraith from the mother-of-all-Hives – or where Todd ran off to, what could you possibly hope to do? And how the hell do you hope to find Michael's people when Teyla herself—"

"Just tell me where the hell he went!" Sheppard raised his voice, pointing at the computer again. "When I want an argument, I'll ask for it."

"Will you _listen_ to yourself?" McKay came back.

"No, McKay, just… stop!" Sheppard wouldn't allow him to continue. "All I want from you is the location of Todd's Hive ship… if you can't do that—"

"Look, I get that you're upset," McKay refused to be silenced, "we all are, but yelling at me – expecting me to do the impossible isn't going to bring her back. She's gone, Sheppard, and as much as you want to sit there wallowing, and blaming yourse—"

McKay broke off with a yelp as Sheppard grabbed the lapel of his shirt and dragged him closer, leaning down until he was right in the scientist's face.

"This isn't about me," he snarled. "This is about doing something that Teyla wanted, and finding her son, freeing him, bringing him home. This is about finding that Wraith _bastard_ and letting him know that he can't presume on what happened between us in the past; that he crossed a line he can _never_ come back from."

McKay held up his hands, "All right, all right," he said softly, then pulled his shirt straight again when Sheppard let go, and pointed at the computers once more. "I did mention the records are a mess, right?"

"What about it?" Sheppard snapped, pacing away again.

"Just that it's going to take a while for me to piece together what information I can, and even then there's no guarantee that it'll be at all useful." McKay said, watching Sheppard pacing from the corner of his eye as his fingers moved over the keyboard. "You should go and get some rest while you're waiting."

"No, I'll stay," Sheppard said, running his fingers through his hair.

McKay shook his head, and stopping again, asked softly, "When was the last time you slept, John?"

**

Beckett walked the length of the darkened infirmary, checking that the patients were still resting, picking up charts and examining them, adjusting medication where he felt it was needed.

He couldn't be still, his mind kept drifting to another time… another place…

_The converted warehouse felt cold and he was certain it did not help the people Michael had demanded he treat. Men and women lay beneath the blankets on the makeshift cots, almost as if the hybrid had not anticipated such a reaction to his serum._

_"How could you not," Beckett demanded as he heard Michael's steps enter the room, "have anticipated this, Michael?"_

_"None of the Humans I have treated with the serum before this have shown any reaction," Michael told him. "Since I have not changed the composition of the serum, there is no reason for this sickness."_

_"There is __**every **__reason to have expected it," Beckett argued, turning to his creator. "You've exposed these people to the actions of a retrovirus, and then to lord knows what other concoctions—"_

_"Have a care, Doctor," Michael's voice was deep with menace. "You're here to treat them, and not to criticise the architect of their reinvention."_

_"Reinvention? You—"_

_"I what, Doctor Beckett?" Michael asked. "As you reinvented me in your own image, I have reinvented them. Does that not make us both architects – or would you prefer a more parochial term – god, perhaps?"_

_"I'm no god," Beckett snapped._

_"Good. On that at least we can agree," Michael said, his voice dripping sarcasm._

"Doctor Beckett?"

Beckett jumped, and as he felt Marie's soft touch against his back, and turned to see her concerned face looking up at him he realised he must have been standing staring at the injured pilot as the memory had washed over him.

"What is it, Love?" he asked her softly.

"It's Ronon," she said. "His pressure's dropping again and the medication isn't helping."

"Damn it," Beckett hissed. "Must be another bleed. Prep him for immediate surgery. I'll be right there."

He set the chart he was holding back into the holder at the foot of the bed, and turned with a sigh to go and get ready for several more hours in the operating room. This would be the third time he'd had to take Ronon back under the knife to repair the damage caused by the Wraith blaster. As fast as he healed one injury, it seemed another part of Ronon's body broke down under the strain, and Beckett started to worry that despite his best and ongoing efforts, the big man might not come back from this.

"Doctor Beckett," the soft voice of the pilot reached him before he had moved too far. "He'll fight. He'll be all right, you'll see."

"Aye, son," he answered quietly. "We're doing everything we can to make sure of it."

"No," the pilot argued softly. "He won't let a bunch of Wraith finish it, no matter what. He'll fight."

Beckett sighed, but couldn't help the slight smile that passed over his face.

"You're right," he said at last, "but you should be resting."

"I am, Doc," the young man said, a calm smile coming over his own face. "I promise you. I'm resting."

**

Her soft flesh and the hard cries she gave as he grasped her hips and pulled her back against his thighs as he buried himself inside her compliant warmth reminded him of the power he wielded, of the strength he possessed and the Commander snarled, hungry for satisfaction in that knowledge.

They had taken nothing from him. He still commanded and as soon as they had been recalled he would command her entire fleet, not merely a single Hive.

He hissed, his pleasure increasing with the thought and swelling inside of his concubine, he felt the spreading of his glans and was rewarded with the sharp cry she gave to the moment. He opened his mind to drink in the hurt, increased the rhythm of his possession until he could revel in the cruelty of the pain he wrought on her, anchored and bucking wildly to relieve himself, and the frustration of his temporary setback on his loyal and willing companion.

He felt the press of the mind against his gathering pleasure, the disruption and deliberate interference, and tore away from the pliant flesh beneath him, not wishing to be found so compromised. Her cry, a near scream, did nothing to moderate the smouldering anger kindled at the interruption.

He barely had time to pull on sufficient clothing to be decent before the door was pushed open.

**

As the white of the agony at his sudden withdrawal faded and she was able to uncurl from the ball into which she had fallen, her knees drawn up to protect her aching sex, Hanna heard the edgy triple tones of the Second as a soft menace that whispered across the room to find her Commander.

"I will speak with you," the Second said.

"Were you not told I was… engaged?" the Commander snapped in response.

Hanna looked up in time to catch the contemptuous expression the tall Wraith Second threw her way before he fixed an uncompromising stare on the Commander.

"Your conduct here is inappropriate," the Second hissed, and then tilting his head, added for her benefit, "Leave us."

_{leave us} {leave us} {leave us}_

Though she knew, with the press of the mental instruction behind the simple words, that she would not be able to resist the command, Hanna took her time in gathering the sheet around her vulnerability, holding it against her, to cover her _just_ enough that both Wraith would see the barest glimpse of skin beneath.

Already at odds with one another, if she could wind the Commander to her whim and play him against the Second, she could solidify her position among worshippers, regain her former influence; ensure her safety.

As she passed him, she treated the Second to a winning, coquettish and hungry smile, pausing to ensure that her Commander also saw her apparent advances. She could not deny her disappointment when the Second's only action was to reach out and propel her more quickly toward the door.

**

"What is the meaning of this!" the Commander snapped as the door closed behind his concubine.

"That you have to ask almost proves my point in coming," Malcolm snarled in response, taking an involuntary step toward the other Wraith.

"Make your point, Second," the Commander said dismissively, "and then withdraw from my presence."

"The settlement is in disarray, the Queen in need, and where are you?" Malcolm spat. "When you were given Intelligences; were given instructions that would have saved our Hive, what were your actions? When the Queen sounded a general quarters alarm, Where. Were. You?"

"I was attending to my duties as Hive Comma—"

Malcolm growled angrily and crossed the room more quickly than he thought he would move, incensed at the answer the Commander had given. His feeding hand mantled over his shoulder as he snarled, "You are not fit to command even the lesser of our Queen's _Cruisers_ let alone her Hive!"

The Commander answered, snarling and lashing out until his own feeding hand hovered inches from Malcolm's chest, the two Wraith roaring and rumbling at each other like wild cats as they barely held their equilibrium.

_{I will take you down!}_

_((you haven't the power!))_

_{your days are numbered!}_

_((spare me your idle threats!))_

"You _will_ attend the Queen and see to the needs of our people – this settlement!" Malcolm growled, and lashed out to catch the unwary Commander a glancing blow that sent him flying to crash against the far wall.

The Commander flipped himself back to his feet, and Malcolm saw the cold fury in his eyes as he stalked across the room. He would not back down, however, standing his ground until the Commander came to a halt right before him, tilting his face barely a breath away from Malcolm's.

"Enough of your posturing… underling," the Commander hissed softly. "If you wish to challenge me…"

"What remains of our Hive can ill afford the turmoil it would bring," Malcolm snarled slowly, annunciating each word. "But you can be sure that this is the only consideration that stays my hand. Now… see to your duties, and not to your pleasures, _Hive_ Commander."

With the sarcasm staining the air between them, Malcolm turned and, without waiting to be dismissed, left the Commander to consider what had happened.

**

Michael moaned softly as Teyla eased the soaked bandage away from his wounded abdomen. The wound was raw and enflamed, and bleeding still. She swallowed hard and glanced toward the doorway. Where _was_ the hybrid with the medical supplies?

As the question burned against her worry, Teyla became aware of a change in the sensation from the Hive, both in the vibration and the light pressure she felt from it inside her.

"We are no longer in hyperspace," she said, shifting her gaze to find Michael's pain-clouded eyes fixed on her. "Where are we?"

Easing himself up slowly, he looked past her for a moment before shifting his gaze back to meet hers.

"Nowhere," he answered, "a restorative… stop."

"Then where are we going?" she demanded, reaching out toward him, meaning to encourage him to lie back, but he pulled away from her touch, virtually dragging himself to sit up against the padded trim behind the bed.

"Would it… mean anything to you," he asked, "if I were to tell you?"

"Sooner or later, Michael," she said, trying, but failing to keep the hint of anger from her voice as she stalked to the viewing port to look out on the swirling grey mass, cloudlike, all around them as she continued, "you are going to have to—"

"Trust you?" he interrupted.

"Yes," she said.

"Yes," the echo of her own word from his lips made her turn back to him. She frowned, puzzled, and he said, "The time _is_ coming."

"Then why not now?" she asked, imploring as she crossed the room again to perch near to him on the bed. "What harm can it do for you to tell me? Have I not demonstrated my intent, Michael? I _came_ for you."

"No." His denial was like a slap. "You came for… your son. Not for me."

She looked at him, at his Wraith features, at the many hurts and injuries and the evidence of the torture they had visited against him, as the echoes of his denial swirled around and around in her mind – intangible, not at all the touch she had known. It spoke to his condition, and she worried all the more.

**

He watched as her eyes moved over him and saw her concerned protestations before she could even voice them. Anger flared without the real energy to express it. His triple toned voice was cold, more Wraithlike than it was of himself.

"The plan for my escape from my Wraith brothers was long since put in place and executed without the necessity for assistance from you and your friends. Why should I believe that your motives have anything more than self interest at heart – the self interest with which you have, so expertly, been corrupted, by the Atlanteans?"

He saw his words hit the depth of her, meant to stop, but his anger got the better of him and his vitriol and resentment toward the Atlanteans continued to be misdirected toward her.

"How many times must you _see_ what they are… what they _do _to others before you realise their abrogation of responsibility; of common decency is anything other than deliberate, unconcerned." He snorted in his frustration. "And you have the audacity to name the Wraith as merciless; call _me_ insane!"

"I believed," she finally spoke in her own defence, "I _hoped_ that they—"

"Would see the error of their ways?" Michael pushed himself up into a more upright position. "Spare me, I—"

"I hoped that they would change, yes," this time she cut him off, her voice earnest, "but what you did—"

"What _I_ did?" he said and from somewhere found the strength to find his feet. "You have found something _else_ for which you wish to blame me?"

"You returned me to Atlantis in a unique position to understand," she said, "and I do understand. I _came_ to understand there would _be_ no change. I left, returned to my people. At least until I put them in danger."

He frowned, blinking at her. "You left your people?"

"Yes. The Wraith—"

"Have _always_ been a presence in your life," he cried, her backward step; her excuses were a dagger thrust into the heart of hope within. He backed away even as his tone implored her and he reached out, his hand trembling, casting deep shadows across the bed that stood between them. "Where is your understanding? _Where_ is your compassion?"

"Strained," she spat, her vehemence like salt, "in the knowledge of all that has come to pass. Crushed under the weight of countless lives destroyed, lost to sickness and death. _Murdered_ by the same continuance of a wrong _so_ deep it cleaved the very essence of who. I. Am."

The ache inside him deepened and, lost in it, he did not hear the door open, or the quiet steps of the hybrid that crossed the room to bring the small case to his side. His entire focus was Teyla.

"When will _you_ see that you cannot fight fire with fire?" she appealed. "That the more fuel you give to feed these flames—"

She stopped abruptly, turning her eyes toward the hybrid.

**

Michael's breath sounded to Teyla to be heavy and tremulous in the sudden silence and his shadow moved as he reached within the case the hybrid held. Her eyes fixed to his pale, clawed hand as he lifted the syringe from within and after looking on it briefly, held it out in her direction. Still he did not look up.

"Help me, Teyla," he said. His tone was low, and calm in contrast to the heated passion of mere moments before. He raised his gaze then from the narrow cylinder to find hers, the spark of hope within desperate – dying. His anger that had lent him strength gone, the reality of his condition crept over him again.

"What is it?" she asked, a chill of fear defusing her own anger.

"M-m-my retrovirus," he said. The spasm of pain that prevented the words from coming shattered his resolve and he stumbled. The hybrid reached out, clearly meaning to catch him, but Michael twisted aside and consequently hit the floor, and snarled at the soldier, "Get out!"

Teyla did not break the tense silence that followed until the door closed behind the retreating hybrid, nor did Michael move from where he had caught himself on the edge of the bed with one knee tucked beneath him. His face was creased in pain.

"Retrovirus?" Teyla asked at last.

Michael nodded once, and she saw the effort necessary for him to draw breath enough to speak. Her belly twisted. She feared the knowledge of what was coming.

"The means… by which," he said, his voice shaking, "I will return to who…I am."

"You're insane," Teyla hissed, taking a step toward him, but halting herself before she could reach him, before the urge to drop to her knees beside him and support him through his trials got the better of her. "In this condition, it will kill you." She shook her head snarling through clenched teeth, "I _will not_ be a party to that!"

"Teyla…"

_"…if there is truly nothing you can do, then I… I… will… give him release."_

"No!"

She turned away from him then, struggling with a hollow cold that crept and curled within her belly at the memory, and she remained uncertain as to whether she cried out in denial of the memory or of his demand and held little desire to examine herself too deeply to discover which. Instead she stood, drawing shallow, trembling breaths, fighting to control the whirl of confusion, the flurry of emotions beating against her.

**

He watched as her shoulders shook with each breath and listened to the uneven breaths she drew. Painfully he reached with his mind along the tattered strands of the connection, trying to feel for the turmoil he could so clearly see.

Moving slowly, he forced his feet under him and staggered to find his balance as he pulled himself upright, moving toward where she still stood, breathing hard, as if she shared his pain.

He reached out slowly, almost afraid to let his hand come to rest on her shoulder, burning where the warmth of her skin feathered against his own. She stiffened slightly, and her breathing came in shorter gasps still.

"I will not stay like this," he said, his voice barely a whisper in the shuddering silence. "I… chose… a different life."

She tipped her head back, as though looking into the dark space where the ceiling met the bulkhead wall.

"They have brought you to within a _moment _of your life," she murmured between breaths, "And you would take yourself closer still to death. Michael, you cannot do this. You cannot survive this transformation—"

"I must," he said as strongly as he could, rumbling the words from deep in his belly, sending new blossoms of agony roiling within.

"—unless you can heal these wounds; regenerate," she took a breath, tremulous and fractured before she said, "Unless you feed."

"No!" the word rose and fell and he snatched his hand away in rejection of her words. "I _will_ not suffer that weakness _any_ more! I have no _need_ to feed!"

She turned to him then, anger flashing amid the sorrow in her eyes.

"Then you condemn yourself to death," she said harshly. "For these wounds will not heal quickly, and I _know_ what others you will suffer if you take your retrovirus."

She took half a step toward him, but he shuffled back, away from the reaching hand she stretched his way, but not before she caught his hand in her own and pulled him to a stop.

"Already, you are _dying_, Michael," he saw her eyes flick to the syringe, still lying on the top of the bed where he had dropped it as he fell, then to his right hand that she held in her own. "Give yourself the chance… to live…"

He shivered and took an almost gasping breath as her thumb brushed softly against the ache in the centre of his palm, where his feeding slit wept with the need that he denied.

"I have _eliminated_ the necessity," he said stubbornly, refusing to submit to the grip of the rising burn of hunger; his body's demands. "I _will _not subject myself to that madness any more. I will find another wa—"

"There is not the time," Teyla argued, shaking her head as she tightened her grasp on his hand. "Michael, I would support your decision if it were possible but… you must face it – they have _forced_ on you the need to feed. How long has it been?"

He shook his head, refusing to answer. There was no rational reason he should keep it from her.

"How long!" she asked again, more force behind her voice and in her manner.

"I… have not," he admitted, "and the desire has been… long since vanquished."

"You are afraid," she accused, and he pulled his hand from hers, almost stumbling, and his attempt to catch himself; his balance sent another ripple of agony through his gut.

"Fear has nothing to do with this!" he gasped.

"It has everything to do with this," she said. "You are afraid that if you submit to the need to feed it will make a lie of everything you have worked for to separate you, those of your _Cause_ from the Wraith."

"No," he said, but his voice faltered. Once, he had been desperate for her understanding, but as she spoke, in the depth of his fatigue, his failing faculties he somewhat wished that she was not so astute.

"You would martyr yourself for a principle that would be better served by your survival," she spat. "You have never before shied away from doing what you had to do in order to survive. Why now?"

"The end justifies the means?" he almost laughed, bitterly, as the reasoning fell from her lips.

"Why now?" she repeated, pushing at his resolve.

"This is not a simple matter of—" he started, but she cut him off.

"Why now?"

"My survival is—"

"Why!" she demanded, and the relentlessness of the truth she thrust on him was a crushing weight, as heavy as the irritation of knowing she was right to press him on the matter.

"Enough!" he cried out, finally unable to remain calm in the face of everything that began revolving in his mind. A second time, more quietly, he said, "Enough. I… accede… to your point."

**

Truly exhausted, Malcolm finally reached the house that had been assigned as his quarters, expecting to be alone and to find peace. As he entered, however, the worshipper within turned from lighting the lanterns and crossed toward him, her eyes downcast.

Malcolm sighed, and as he began to reach for the fastenings on his leather coat, he said quietly, "I do not want to deal with this."

"Lord?" the worshipper asked, the reverence clear in the hesitation of her voice.

"I have no need of assistance," he said, trying to maintain his temper. "You may go."

"But," she stuttered, glancing up at him fearfully, "the Commander ordered—"

Subduing the growl that began in the back of his throat as everything suddenly became clear to him, Malcolm acquiesced, for the moment, moving his hands away as the worshipper reached to take over the unfastening of his armoured coat. Still the sound of his displeasure startled her to silence. That act of sending her to him was meant to taunt him. The Commander knew of the loss of his servant and under the guise of providing him with a replacement to assist in his needs, was silently mocking him.

He felt the weight of the coat lift away as the worshipper moved behind him to strip the coat from his broad shoulders. Unconsciously he waited for the hand that would pass a soothing touch across the top of his back. It did not come, and its absence struck like a dagger.

"Leave me," he gasped.

"Lord," she whispered an apology, "did I offend you?"

Hurt, and angered beyond all sanity, he rounded on the woman and snatching the coat from her trembling hands he roared at her. "Leave me!"

She scrambled to obey, even as he threw the coat to the top of the nearby table and advanced toward her, snarling. He picked up a chair as he passed it and swung it in fury at the closing door. Wood splintered and the chips of it flew in all directions, ignored by the overemotional Wraith who thrust his hand against the door as it bounced on its hinges, slamming it closed.

Behind him, his coat slid to the floor while he stood, breathing hard, staring at the door in front of him. He had made a promise, a vow upon his honour to one sacrificing her life, and now, he had not kept his word.

His Matron lived upon the sullied tatters of his nobility, and to have tainted Her with his failure only compounded the agony of his own loss.

**

Teyla watched him for a long time, watching the change in his breathing, his expression, the way he drew himself up, his head tilted at a certain angle, as if contemplating what he had agreed to do.

_His sigh was barely perceptible, and without taking his eyes off her, he slowly began to walk around her. She turned to keep him in view._

_"We never stopped being enemies," he said, and she thought she heard disappointment in his voice._

_"What will you do with me? Feed on me?" she demanded, fighting harder to keep the trembling inside of her from showing, from affecting any part of her that he would see. "Is that why you brought me all this way?"_

_He looked away, refusing to meet her gaze, and fighting to keep his breathing under control._

_"I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel the urge," he said, and then he finally brought his eyes to meet with hers again. She could not help but look at his right hand, fear… and something more, mounting inside of her. After only a moment, he followed the direction of her gaze, looking down at his hand as he began to raise it… clawed. "And now that I'm truly able to feed again," he said, examining his hand. Then he turned it towards her and she could clearly see the feeding slit. She remembered the sting of it, painful and yet… "I feel it even more."_

_Giving way to the excited fear bubbling inside of her, remembering the sensations, not so very long before… when he had held her, pinned to the wall of his research facility, inviting an alternative to death… she turned to face him fully. Her breathing began to tremble in and out of her chest; her body trembled with the fearful anticipation._

_"Then go ahead," she told him; dared him._

_For a moment his face creased into an expression of reluctant pain, and he let out a sigh that hissed around them, a chill wind warning of the troubles to come, and resisting with each inch toward her that his hand moved, he reached for her. She held her ground, trembling and all but panting in front of him…_

"What is it you see?" he asked as she refocused her eyes, looking at him, watching the way he panted softly in pain that was almost tangible around him.

"A moment in time," she told him, then trembling with the same dangerous compulsion as before she added, her voice almost as a whisper, "Michael… Let me be the one."

"No!" he cried, and it was almost as if an appeal against her quiet plea. "You cannot crave— This is madness!"

"Madness or not," she began, taking a step toward him.

"I will_ not_ feed on _you_," he snarled, "I will not risk—"

"Answer a question," she interrupted. "If I had not agreed to come with you from the other Hive, would you still have given the order to fire?"

"Do not… ask questions," his voice became strained – choked and he backed a step away, continuing, "to which you do not wish to hear the answer."

Teyla shook her head, refusing to give him quarter. She knew that even if she had not offered, this was the only way; the only possibility and she knew he saw it too, or he would not so vehemently refuse.

"I asked because I want to know," she said.

"Yes," he said at last, barely audible, though the triple toned voice whispered around the chamber, an inescapable rope twisting around them. "There was no other choice."

"Then by the same logic there is no reason that you cannot feed on me," she said, and her voice trembled. "If you were prepared to give the order that would have killed me, then—"

"It is not the same," he implored her. "I will not _harm_ you. I told you that!"

A lightning strike of movement, she crossed the space between them and caught hold of the hand he raised to fend her off.

"You cannot call on any of your people. You are their leader; you cannot show weakness before them," she reasoned urgently. "I am your _only_ choice."

"Teyla!" he howled, emotional agony written more deeply on his face than his physical hurts.

"You must do this, Michael," she whispered after a silence longer than she could bear fell over the room. It was punctuated only by his laboured breathing. "You _must_."

She let go of him and he closed his eyes then. For a moment he covered his face with his hands.

**

He could not fault her logic or her understanding of the situation aboard his Hive, but if he were to feed on her; to take from her the life he needed in order to survive, his every promise to her would dissolve and what then would stand between them? How then would he show that he was faithful to his word and to his wishes for her?

And yet… as harsh as he had been, for all the words that had passed between them, her resolve; her need to be the one that would help him to keep alive the _Cause_ for which he fought so hard had been steady – insistent.

If he denied her, was he not also rejecting that which he had craved for so long? In doing this, would it not be one step closer to bringing peace between them?

A wave of nausea and pain swept over him, reminding him once more of the more practical necessity and he looked up to find her eyes awash with compassion. He reached for her then, to lay the barest of touches against her cheek.

**

His fingers were cold against the almost fevered burning of her face, and she almost leaned in to the uncharacteristic touch. She would not deny that she was afraid, and yet, to come full circle, to the moment they had almost shared so many long years before…

She took a trembling breath and whispered his name.

"Not here," he murmured in return. His eyes flicked past her, to the bed. "When it is done, you… you will… need to rest."

With another breath she nodded, and turned, swallowing hard to make her way to the bed, to sit against the pillows that rested against the padded board between the bed and the wall of the chamber.

She closed her eyes in a long blink, hearing Michael move to follow, his shuffling, limping steps more pronounced and for a moment she worried that even with this, even were she to sacrifice all of her years, they may have left it too late.

"Teyla?"

She felt the bed move as he settled near to her, felt a querying touch brush against her hand. She opened her eyes and looked up to find his.

"I am ready," she said, and as he tilted his head, she reached up to unlace the neckline of her shirt, forgetting the evidence of another Wraith's hands on her.

Michael frowned, a hiss escaping his throat in anger when he saw the fading abrasions of another hand at her chest.

"Who did this?" he demanded, and tried to look away.

She shook her head and reached for him, her insistent touch bringing his eyes back to meet with hers.

"It is nothing, Michael," she told him, and her voice was low and earnest. "The commander of the Hive attacked me when I tried to get aboard the first time, before I had to go and ask the others for help. It was but a second or two, and he paid for the attempt. I promise you that."

He let out a long, slow breath, and then slowly, visibly trembling, he reached out to her with his feeding hand.

She swallowed as his fingers brushed against her chest, her breathing quickened, her chest rising and falling under the chill of his hand as it came to settle against her.

His breathing, too, became more laboured as he paused, waiting, and for a time she thought he would refuse at the last moment. She opened her mouth to speak his name. Then she felt the brush of his fractured mind against her own, pained and lost, and she opened to him as best she could, reaching to support the failing bond between them.

She barely had time to take another breath before the trembling of his hand against her ceased under the sudden pressure that brought the bite of the sharp barbs against her skin.

An intense rush of cold left her dizzy, and hard on the heels of it a visceral piercing clawed at her, cell by cell. At the edges of her vision, blurred by tears, darkness hovered, waiting to close in on her and her fluttering heart sounded overly loud inside her head.

She cried out. The echo of his answering cry sped along their bond to reverberate inside of her and in spite of having wanted this for him, she suddenly, desperately, clawed at his wrist.

**

Life and strength flooded along the pulsing ache that possessed all of him as feeding pushed his body into an explosion of regeneration so painful it was almost a pleasure. He felt the edges of the wound in his belly knit so quickly it stole his breath, and deeper still, the internal damage faded almost to nothing.

Her cry, her nails at his wrist pushed their way into his awareness, her physical agony seeped over him and he answered her cry with one of his own, before he tore himself away from her; fled to the far bulkhead, breathing hard with the realisation of how close he had come to losing control.

He leaned against the wall, fighting for breath, but stronger now and still feeling the buzzing flow of his regenerative healing against the strain of the rock that weighed his chest.

_-Teyla-_

He reached for her mentally as his shredded synapses began to resolve themselves.

She was breathing hard, small sobbing gasps that escaped irregularly. He knew he should go to her, be _sure_ that he had not gone too far, but he could not bring himself to turn and face what he had done.

He knew she felt his fears, for a moment later she said, breathlessly, "I am all right."

Still he dared not turn, stayed where he was, leaning heavily against the bulkhead, filled with self recriminations.

**

As he pulled away, the sudden absence was almost as much of a shock to her system as the act of his feeding, and she tried to keep hold of him as he freed himself from her grasp.

Her body shook, and for a moment she couldn't catch her breath. She wanted to call out to him, needed his closeness to be sure that what they had done could be resolved; felt like weeping but hadn't the strength, was weary but dare not rest. She felt the brush of his mental query, but could not answer.

Finally, knowing what she must do, still fighting for breath, she climbed to her feet, and pausing only to collect the drug from the foot of the bed, made her way, somewhat unsteadily, across the room to him.

**

Sheppard sidestepped to avoid the sparks from the engineer welding the deck plating on the _Daedalus'_ bridge as he went in search of Caldwell. He wanted to be sure the colonel was on board with his plan, though given the condition of the battleship he was sure he could predict what Caldwell would say.

"Sheppard," the other man greeted him tersely as he turned away from the earnest conference he was having with the con. officer.

"Just thought I'd drop by," Sheppard said mildly, "see how things are going."

"We're about as far from being ready to mount a tactical assault against the Wraith as we've ever been," Caldwell snapped bluntly. "To be frank, I think your plan is another insane risk, and given what's just happened, and the condition of my ship, even with standing orders to assist the Atlantis Expedition at this time I'm disinclined to take her anywhere near another battle."

"We gotta… go after—"

"Colonel," Caldwell interrupted, "even if we could find Todd, and as I understand it, McKay was only able to piece together a projected trajectory based on the coordinates of the forming hyperspace window, the _Daedalus _is in no condition to mount an assault. Look around you."

Sheppard did look, and while he understood the colonel's feelings, he had considerations that he couldn't just drop.

"It's enough," he argued. "We have to find him. He can't be allowed to get away with this."

"I understand your feelings, Sheppard," Caldwell retorted sharply, his voice conveying anything but sympathy.

"Besides which," Sheppard said, raising his voice slightly over that of the other man, "According to McKay, there's no sign that the Wraith that escaped the destruction of that Hive made it out of that system. They're still there, vulnerable, down on that planet. It's the perfect chance for us to take them out."

"You don't know that," Caldwell argued. "For all we know they could have contacted a dozen other Hives by now and we could be jumping right into the middle of them."

Sheppard sighed in frustration and ran his hands exasperatedly through his hair.

"I need the _Daedalus, _Steven," he said, "and I need your experience in command of her."

"Then give me _time,_" Caldwell hissed, lowering his voice slightly. "I've lost Asgard weapons, the shields are shot to hell and—"

"I'd love to," Sheppard admitted, "but I can't. There's only a certain distance Todd can go before he has to stop for his ship to regenerate. If we don't catch up to him before he leaves from that stop, there will be no way of knowing where he went."

"Supposing you do catch up to him – what then?" Caldwell demanded.

"Then?" Sheppard growled the question, anger flaring in his gut as the video in his memory played over and over. "I'm gonna blow the bastard out whatever sky he happens to be hanging over."

**

He was aware that the flinch he gave as the relative warmth of her hand closed on the top of his shoulder was more than noticeable and that now, so close, Teyla would see his hands, still clawed against the bulkhead, and the stain of her own blood that trickled from his palm, a visible trail along the deep blue of the wall, staining the Hive purple – the Human colour of royalty.

He stiffened still further as she leaned against him, her other hand trembling against his shoulder blade.

"I am… all right, Michael," she said, repeating her words of only moments ago, as if she thought they would give him comfort.

"Let go," he told her, his voice deep, its triple tones stronger.

"Look at me," she demanded in response. "Let me… see _you_."

He tilted his head, slowly as if he were afraid to startle her as he turned, first his head, then as she stepped back to allow the movement, his shoulders and his body followed until he stood facing her. He ran his eyes over her – her face now lined, and the beginnings of grey in the strands of her once vibrant hair – but though her youth was withered, her beauty and grace remained untainted.

"I will—" he began.

"Ssh… Michael," she would not allow him to finish the promise he had been about to make to her. Instead she reached out toward him, toward the blood stained shirt. He froze, hissing softly as her fingertips connected with his sensitive, newly knitted skin. He watched, near trembling, as she drew her hand away, looking at her fingers, before looking up at him, breathing hard. He tipped his head, almost a query, his eyes following hers as she looked over the whole of him.

"I remember…" she told him softly, reaching out again, to this time stir the fine, but still short hair that graced his head; sweep the briefest of touches over the pale, Wraith-green skin until her fingers encountered the hardened, blackened skin at the side of his neck, where the transformation had been flawed.

"As do I," he hissed, turning his face away. She had been magnificent then – strong and uncorrupted. Not so now… with so much passed between them and so much interference from others.

**

She did not need the bond to feel his self loathing in that moment. It poured from every cell in his body. This was not as he had chosen for himself – for his life, so changed, so violated, first by her friends, with her complicity, and afterward by whatever Wraith scientist had forced this parody of a reversion upon him.

"Why…?" she asked.

"Why?" he repeated, almost turning his face back to meet with hers.

"Why… did they… do this?" she said to clarify her question.

He did turn back to her then, to meet her eyes, his own burning with unconcealed anger, though she knew this time that it was not aimed her way.

"Because they could," he said at last.

She shook her head, knowing he was not telling her the whole of the truth. Slowly she pulled the syringe from where she had tucked it in the folds of the waistband of her fighting skirt and looked at it for a long time.

"But you knew," she accused softly, before looking up into his eyes.

"Suspected," he said.

"No," she said, her voice lowering almost to a growl. "You knew that they would do this."

He said nothing. His silence hurt; his lack of trust; his rejection of her, upsetting. Frustrated, she pulled the cap from the needle.

"Why will you not _tell_ me?" she implored him.

"Because it does not matter any more," he said. "What they did to me… has come to nothing."

"That is not an answer," she cried.

"Tell me then," he said softly, taking a step toward her, reaching to catch her elbow when, stepping back too quickly, a wave of dizziness made her stumble, almost fall. "Honestly… what difference would it make for you to know what it was they planned?"

"I would… understand," she said, her tone desperate.

"You do not _want_ to understand," he said.

"Yes," she said.

"Then understand this…"

_-understand this- -understand- -understand- -understand-_

She tried to shake off the tightening grasp of his mind in hers, but as his regeneration continued, and as her own condition became more acute, she knew she stood little chance.

"Do not," she begged him, stepping forward to catch his wrist in her free hand.

"…that which I am… the future to which I would bring those of this galaxy… is not lightly taken from me… though they have tried. The evolution I would bring… is not… does not… will _never_ belong to the Wraith!"

"Then…?"

She trailed off as he tilted his head again and captured her eyes with his own. She took at trembling breath. It was almost painful, in her growing fatigue. He was right, she needed to rest, but…

Swallowing, she drew his arm toward her. He did not fight and she knew he sensed her intent, and was grateful when she felt the guiding touch of his mind against hers. Even so, her hand trembled as she set the needle to his skin, above the deep coloured line of a vein, before she carefully injected him with the drug.

**

Michael hissed softly as he felt the cold of the serum containing his retrovirus beginning to burn through his veins. Formulated for his specific DNA he knew its action would be swift and its effects brutal. Still, he was not prepared for the first intense rush of the twisting disintegration of his RNA.

The agony of it drove him to his knees, and in spite of his resolve, he gave voice to the conflagration of the necessary ordeal. His collapse tore his arm from Teyla's grasp, a deep loss registered within the whirl of pain he had become, and a second cry flew from his lips even as he fought with himself to release the mental bond between them.

**

He fell, and she could not hold him. His agonised cry ripped through her senses even though Teyla could no longer reach his mind, no matter how hard she tried. Unable to stand helpless in the face of his, albeit self inflicted, torture, she turned away, breathless. Her own chest a mass of tight pain, that became too much to bear as the continued sounds of his distress beat against her defences, until at last she flew toward the door as quickly as the fatigue in her limbs would allow.

"Teyla!"

Desperation given voice, the call halted her in her tracks, her hand raised toward the control that would have opened the door, trembling with unshed tears.

…_I have done this to you…_

"Please…!"

"Michael," she whispered.

Another wordless cry sped to lodge in the tightness within her chest, and she turned from the door, hardly daring to raise her eyes to meet with his across the space between them. For barely a heartbeat he held her gaze before another spasm of pain tore him from her.

Equilibrium shattered and as quickly as she had sought escape, she threw herself down beside him, lifting his convulsing form into the warmth of her arms, holding him tightly as he juddered and moaned through the worst of it; bathing him with the water of her tears.

**

"Jennifer," Beckett eased his way through the narrow gap between the edges of the screen just as she finished buttoning her blouse. "Sorry to have kept you waiting."

She shook her head and turned to him, biting her lip fearfully, and moved to compassion, he reached out to grip her shoulder gently.

"Just tell me there's nothing wrong, Carson," she said softly.

He pulled up a stool, and sat looking up at her as he spoke.

"You know I'm not going to do that, because right now, every single test we're running is coming back inconclusive," he said softly, "and while that doesn't necessarily mean there's anything _wrong_, it certainly suggests that there's something going on that isn't exactly _right._"

"What about the latest blood panel?" she asked softly.

"It's showing us exactly the same chemistry as last time," he said with a sigh. He couldn't explain the results; shouldn't be _seeing_ the results that he was, not after this amount of time.

"Even the Wraith enzyme?" Keller asked, her voice shaking with fear.

"Aye." He sighed again. "Even the enzyme. I've never known it to decay this slowly, Jennifer, and I'm sorry, I can't explain it. There is _so_ much we don't know about the Wraith and your… contact with Todd was _entirely_ different to that of someone being fed on." She blushed and blanched within the space of a moment and he added softly, "I'm sorry."

"I just want to know what's going on, Carson," she told him. "I'm scared."

"I know you are, Love," he answered, "and I promise you, I'm doing _everything_ I can to discover what's going on."

"You…" she swallowed, and he waited patiently for her to formulate the end of the sentence, understanding how frightened she was. "You said you wanted… to do a scan."

"At this point it's just about the only thing we haven't done," he answered. "Given your recent medical history I'd have been much happier if we'd done it a week or so ago… just to be sure."

"To be sure?" she echoed, her voice barely concealed a panicked tone.

"Aye, to be sure no damage was accidentally caused during the procedure," he frowned, considering her reaction again in light of everything he knew of what had occurred. "Jennifer, is there something else? Something you're not telling me?"

"No," she answered, and he wasn't certain that the answer hadn't come just a little too quickly. He tried to give her the benefit of the doubt.

"All right, well, listen," he started to suggest, "Why don't we schedule the scan for later this week, go from there, and in the meantime, I'll assign light duties, scale back your shifts; give you the chance to rest."

"Thanks, Carson, but you're so busy in here. Are you sure you can—"

"We'll cope," he told her, reaching out to squeeze her hand. "It wouldn't be the first time, and I'm certain it won't be the last."

Keller nodded and sighed. "How's Ronon?" she asked.

Beckett sighed. The surgery had been a fight, with Ronon close to crashing almost the entire way through the four hour ordeal, until the hidden damage caused by the Wraith blaster had been found, and the necessary grafts and sutures made. Since then he seemed to have stabilised.

"The last surgery was tough," he said. "Touch and go, but I think he'll pull through. He's a fighter."

"And you?" Keller asked unexpectedly. Beckett blinked in surprise.

"Me?" he asked.

"Yes, you," she said. "It can't have been easy for you – knowing you were going aboard that Hive to… well, you know…"

"Face my maker, you mean?" he smiled wryly. "No, it wasn't easy."

"Carson, I…" she trailed off, shaking her head.

"No, go on," he prompted, guessing where she was going with what she'd been about to say. "People avoid the subject far too often. I'm not Carson. I'm a clone, a construct. Aye, granted, I might have his knowledge, his memories… his personality and worries, but… when it comes down to it, Michael made me as surely as Carson made Michael. Has a kind of… poetry, in a way, don't you think?"

"You're being flippant," she accused him softly.

He sighed and ran his hand over his face, the weight of his guilt rising up to pull him down under the surface of the tumultuous waves of consequence.

"Right now, I have to be," he said, his voice barely audible, "because otherwise I'm going to lose it. I did this, all of it… what happened to Teyla… to Ronon… Colonel Sheppard… to you—"

"Carson, no," she protested.

"Aye, Jennifer, even that. If I hadn't interfered, helped Perna to—"

"You can't think like that," Keller told him, reaching over to squeeze his hand.

"Someone has to," he whispered. "We don't have Teyla any more…"

**

Michael stirred, took a breath and let it out slowly as consciousness returned. His entire body ached, though in some places the discomfort was more acute than others. Those places where the worst of the Wraith torture had been visited on him remained the worst of all, but the reversion, coupled with the regeneration catalysed by the brief time he'd fed had fully healed the damage to his shoulder and his hands, as well as to other, more vital parts of his body.

Teyla's stillness brought him more quickly to awareness, and he sat up, drawing himself carefully out of her limp embrace, supporting her as she began to tumble sideways, murmuring, but not waking as she did.

An icy dread rushed over him, and he reached quickly for the side of her neck to feel the sluggish pulse against his fingertips; fearing, especially now, that he had fed too long. Her skin was cool to the touch, and her mind, where he brushed a careful, tentative query, remained dull and unresponsive.

He pulled away, never quite letting go, to cast his gaze downward to the orifice that still marred the palm of his right hand, stained as it was, still, with Teyla's blood. It would take a more deliberate manipulation to remove it again, and this time he would take greater care to ensure that he did not repeat the misalignment of the gene sequence that had caused such damage to his system that it had necessitated the madness that had been the last few months of his existence.

He swallowed hard as he looked up from his hand to Teyla's pale face, her eyes closed as if in a peaceful sleep. Dare he? What would it be to share such a moment with her? How much would it change the both of them?

Moving slowly, he slipped his arm beneath her knees and braced himself to rise, lifting _her_ into _his_ arms as she held him for… how long?

Her shallow breath against his neck, as her head came to rest on his shoulder as he moved, ignited a deeper emotion than the guilty concern he felt, and he paused to take a trembling breath, before he set her down carefully against the pillows of the bed.

_-Teyla…wake- -wake- -wake- -wake- -wake-_

Gradually, under the insistent press of his will, she began to stir.

**

Malcolm sighed, unable to find rest. His mind too busy, and the echo of the barely contained chaos of the Wraith around him was an ache, dull but persistent, behind his eyes. He sat up, and slowly massaged his temples with long fingers, before another sigh escaped him as he covered his face with his hands.

_"Lord?" The soft voice of the Attendant sounded at his shoulder. "May I help you?"_

_He did not turn from looking through the archway and into the crèche, where both Wraith young and their hybrid counterparts were educated in parallel with one another, each learning their own specific lore._

_"The hybrid girl," he said quietly._

_"The foundling?" the Attendant asked softly, and he glanced her way to see that she had followed the direction of his gaze. The words pained him, to hear them spoken of her._

_"How is she called?" he asked._

_"Her name is Isla," the Attendant answered._

_{so… you heard} {you heard} {you heard}_

_He reached out to the girl with his mind, surprised again when she looked up from the tablet at which she studied, to glance into his eyes, then look away at the reprimanding glare from the tutor. He tilted his head, and when the Attendant spoke again, realised that the woman mistook the action as a query as to the girl's name._

_"She said it was her mother's name."_

_"Bring her here," he instructed, "I wish to speak with her."_

_"Of course, Lord," the Attendant said, but frowned. His request was irregular, he knew, but his visit with the Matron earlier that day, his journey through the pool to reach the inner sanctum of the mound had brought with it a reminder of the vow he had made._

_He waited, watching as the Attendant spoke quietly with the tutor, and then took the young girl by the hand to lead her toward him. The child's short legs moved in double quick time to keep up with the adult's long strides, and her almost white-blonde hair bounced with the movement._

_"They tell me your name is Isla," he said to the girl. It had been four cycles since her birth, and through that time he had watched her from a distance, guiding the hands that had guided her life's path, but now – with the construction of new ships – there were waves that had begun to change the balance of things, and if he were to keep his promise, he would need to act._

_"Yes, my Lord," her voice was high, but soft, that of a child that was no stranger to discipline, but he raised an eyebrow slightly at her choice of address…my lord, not just lord. "It was my mother's name. I heard it in my head."_

_He nodded. "Do you attend your tutors well?"_

_"I try, my Lord."_

_There it was again._

_"Good." He gave another nod, and then glancing at the Attendant, said, "She will be trained to serve a noble."_

_The Attendant looked at him in a surprise approaching horror, but he ignored her, turning his attention back to the young girl in front of him._

_"Would you like that?" he asked._

_"As my Lord wishes," she answered._

_He nodded, and with a wave of his hand, dismissed the Attendant and the girl. His duty was served. She would be safe from the changes that were coming. As they walked away, when they were almost to the outer ring of the other hybrid children, he called to her softly._

_"Isla."_

_She pulled against the Attendant's hand as she turned to look at him as he spoke._

_{remember}_

_A smile slowly formed on her face; in her eyes; and it warmed him to see. It reminded him of the starlight reflected in the pool at the mound that had been the place of her birth._

Taking a deep breath he pulled himself to his feet, suddenly chilled, and crossed the room to the banked fire – removed the sods and added more wood until the flames rekindled, leaping in yellow and gold reflections around the walls.

Red in the hearth…

_The bleeding sky still buzzed with the sound of the darting craft as the defenders mopped up the last of the aggressors. The bodies of the intruders lay scattered, rotting where they had fallen. How long had it been?_

_The newborn he held in his hands screwed up her face, wailing against the sting of the acrid air. He had to take her to safety; to the Attendants at the crèche, where she could be raised along with the others._

_It was a delay he could ill afford, but the child's mother had been among few that day who had kept to her duties and for that, this little one would be saved._

_He tried to harden his heart; to tell himself that this would be reason enough…_

"Where is reason now?" he asked the crackling flames. "Or has all come to madness in this peak, untended?"

_{damn you!} {damn you!} {damn you!}_

**

It took Teyla a moment for her eyes to focus properly as they fluttered open in response to the insistent call inside her mind, but when they did, she raised a hand that weighed heavily toward the concerned face that looked down on her.

"Michael," she breathed, the relief almost painful.

The eyes that looked on her were his own, though still Wraithlike and the slightly mottled, hybrid skin held warmth that the colder, Wraith-green had not displayed. Gone was the blackened, hardened patch on the side of his neck, and the hair that fell, slightly mussed around his face, had colour, though it was still muted by some grey-white strands amid the brown.

He caught her hand against his wrist before her fingers could touch his face and guided the touch aside.

"Can you sit?" he asked and his voice was the rich dual tone that she remembered, the third, counter-tone a mere whisper, as it had always been.

"Yes," she said, and the breath came out of her in a rush. "I think so."

He nodded then, giving her a moment to fight her way into an upright position. Dizziness assaulted her at the moment, and she felt herself beginning to topple to the side.

His fingers closed around her upper arm to steady her, and in the next moment slipped down along her arm to guide her hand to rest against his shoulder. She shivered slightly when he released her wrist and circled her with his arm, his fingers splayed against her back, warm and strong.

She took a shaky breath.

"What—?" she started.

"There is… a need in both of us that has remained unfulfilled for too long…" he answered slowly.

"I do not understand," she whispered nervously.

_-I think you do- -you do- -you do- -you do-_

His right hand moved to settle once more against her chest, over the painful burning that remained of his feeding on her and the pressure of his fingers against her back increased as instinctive fear made her pull away.

…_Michael, please… _

The same, sudden bite and dizzying rush of cold subsumed her. Their eyes locked as her head fell back and a gasping cry came from her lips. Michael breathed out a long, slow hiss and the harshness faded from his gaze.

It began as an almost tingling vibration that spread from the momentary pain until the heat of it, swirling and dancing within took her beyond hurt and fear, into a brightness that pushed its way into every fractured cell that he had left in the wake of his feeding. The rapture of it gripped her, leaving her breathless and trembling, the very nature of him becoming a part of her – so intense a presence, a bliss, that she gave another cry, and even grasping his shoulder for support fell against him, sobbing.

She barely felt the withdrawal of his touch, only the warmth of the hand with which he cradled the back of her neck, holding her against his chest, breathing as hard as was she, his mind within hers an echo of the rhapsody… the Gift.


	2. Act 2

**Stargate Atlantis**

** Apostasy**

To Change a Heart, Understand It

**Act 2**

McKay waited uncomfortably while the others assembled behind him. It wasn't so much that he was worried about presenting what he knew to Sheppard and Woolsey, even Caldwell, to a degree, but the addition of Hollick and the professor made him profoundly nervous.

As if sensing the way McKay felt, Sheppard clapped him on the shoulder as he came to a halt in the semi circle of listeners gathered before the wall mounted computer screen.

"What have you got?" he asked quietly.

McKay took a breath – game on – and switched the display to show the information he'd managed to piece together of the fragmented data from the _Daedalus'_ sensors.

"As you know," he started, "I've spent the last several hours trying to make sense of the readings provided by Colonel Caldwell in order to extrapolate the possible destination for our friend the Wraith."

"Where'd he go, McKay?" Sheppard demanded, folding his arms across his chest.

He switched to the next screen on the computer, showing a star map of part of the Pegasus Galaxy as he said, "I was just getting to that."

"All in good time, Colonel," Varnerin murmured, and as McKay glanced his way, he saw that he too had folded his arms, almost as though he were mimicking Sheppard. McKay frowned, and Sheppard threw the psychologist a withering glance.

Knowing that look, McKay quickly turned back to the display, and continued his explanation.

"As you know, the battle took place in close proximity to M8F-392, here," he circled that point on the display. "Now… the Hive opened a hyperspace window, here, with a trajectory that suggests they'll have to make their regenerative stop… right around… here."

He drew a square onto the screen where he had calculated the Wraith Hive would have to leave hyperspace.

"That's a pretty big window, Doctor," Caldwell said, leaning closer, obviously to get a better look. "And how do we know they aren't just heading for any one of a number of other planets along the way?"

McKay shook his head.

"By combining the location of those planets revealed by my calculations as being along the Hive's current course with the Intel coming in from those areas, I've determined that it's highly unlikely that any of those planets would hold any interest for the Wraith."

"Except maybe for people to feed on," Hollick said bitterly, but McKay shook his head again.

"According to the database that Kell—Beckett's people have been putting together, too many of those worlds, scattered randomly in that area, are suffering the effects of the Hoffan drug," he said. "It's simply not worth the risk for a Wraith Hive – even Todd's – to try culling around there."

"So he goes beyond, stops to regenerate his Hive," Sheppard said, uncrossing his arms to point at the box McKay had drawn and asked, "Then what? Where does he go from there?"

"Ah," McKay said, his face falling. "See… therein lies the problem."

"Because having stopped," Varnerin took up the explanation, "There's no telling his trajectory once he begins his journey again."

"Damn it!" Sheppard spat. "What's your best guess, McKay?"

"My best—" McKay spluttered, "Sheppard, there's no _way_ of telling. He could literally have gone in _any_ direction from there, even back the way he's come, supposing he wants to go… pick off any survivors or… something."

"Options, Rodney?" Sheppard pressed and McKay shifted uncomfortably.

"What do you want me to say, Sheppard? He could have gone any way. There are at least half a dozen planets scattered around those systems nearby that he could visit, try culling, whatever the hell his plan is, there's just no telling. I'm sorry but I'm _out_ of options."

Sheppard sighed heavily, and McKay could see he was running all the possibilities through his head. He knew it wouldn't take Sheppard long to guess there was something he wasn't saying.

Woolsey shifted beside him, looking at the various displays on the screen in front of them.

"What _about_ the survivors?" he asked.

"Any there were would have to make planet-fall on M8F-392," McKay answered, "because there are no other habitable planets within range of Darts' capabilities."

"Stargates?" Sheppard asked. "They don't need habitable if they can get access to the Gate."

"There _is _a 'Gate, yes," McKay said slowly, "But it's not going to do them, or us, any good."

"Why not?" Woolsey demanded.

McKay blinked, he'd expected the question to come from Sheppard.

"Well, because it's…" he flipped the display to show a closer map of the system where the battle had taken place, and drew a circle on a planetoid in close proximity to the system's star. "… here. The radiation from the sun, not to mention the solar flare activity and gravitational forces… well basically it's deadly."

"What about if we modified one of the Jumper's cloaks again, made it a shield instead," Hollick asked.

McKay shook his head. "Of course by _we _you mean _me. _Even with shielding the gravitational sheering forces would tear the ship apart, and as far as the Wraith are concerned their Darts don't _have_ shields. In fact it's a very recent addition for the Hives to have shield capability – only since the Aurora Mission reports were stolen by Michael's former Hive, which, now you come to mention it, begs the question—"

"McKay!" Sheppard cut of his rapid diatribe.

"What?" he swung around to face Sheppard, irritated by the expectation that he would provide answers to all of their impossible questions and provide a solution to an impossible situation. "I _told_ you, there's no way to scientifically predict Todd's destination. I can't _make_ it any clearer than that, and Sheppard I'm sorry, I wish I could, but I can't. I've done what I can. I've told you where he'll stop to regenerate. That's as much as I can do."

"Then there's only one thing we _can_ do," Sheppard said, "because I doubt there's a way to catch up to him before his ship finishes its regeneration."

"Not with the _Daedalus_ in her current condition, no," Caldwell said.

"Then we head for the Wraith survivors," Sheppard said. "We know from when Michael released Teyla the first time that Todd was working with that queen. Something made him turn on her, and her Wraith have gotta know why, and where he would go."

"Colonel, no offense," Hollick said, "but… are you out of your mind? We have no clue how many survivors there were; their military capability, nothing!"

"We know that Todd kicked their ass," Sheppard said, "and for right now that'll have to be good enough. We go in; we hit 'em hard, get prisoners and take the rest of them _out._"

"What are you suggesting, John?" Varnerin asked softly.

"I'm sick of this," Sheppard snapped in return, and McKay cringed at the tone in his voice, somewhere between anger and desperation. "It's time we started putting these Wraith bastards in their place."

"But they _are_ in their place, Colonel Sheppard. They're the apex predator of this galaxy. The top of the food chain – everything stops with them," Varnerin pressed.

"Not any more," Sheppard said bitterly, and McKay realised just how far he had been pushed by the events of the latest encounter with the Wraith. He also worried that Varnerin was looking for a reason to remove Sheppard from command and put Hollick in his place, and that, displaying this attitude, Sheppard was playing right into his hands. He opened his mouth to say something, and then almost choked in surprise when Woolsey spoke.

"Colonel Sheppard is right," he said, "and we have to act quickly. Even if these Wraith can't give us the location of Todd's Hive, by eliminating them we rid the Pegasus Galaxy of one dangerously powerful Wraith faction. That has to justify the risks involved."

Sheppard nodded. "We get out prisoners, and then make a _no quarter_ strike against the remaining Wraith. They've left us with no choice."

McKay glanced around at the assembled, at the mixture of expressions on each of their faces. His eyes meeting the haunted gaze in Sheppard's eyes, he sighed. There was nothing he could say that was going to deter his friend from the course of action, so _he_ had no choice but to stand with him, no matter how much his gut was telling him that this was a very bad idea.

**

Jethera glanced around at the faces of those assembled in the gathering space of the village they had settled, facing out toward the field. She stood behind the Queen with the other two handmaidens, praying that the Queen would remain calm. She faced her people with the Commander and the Second flanking her – surveying what remained of her Hive.

Movement beside the Commander drew her gaze, and she bristled. There beside him stood the harlot Merihanna, revelling in her position as his concubine, standing with her nose in the air, when her face, her eyes, should be downcast. She was the cause of this. Had it not been for the distraction she was for the Commander, they would not have lost the Hive and be stuck in this position.

The woman behind her nudged her, hard in the ribs, and she almost yelped, until she realised that the Second had turned his head and was regarding her coolly, the ridge of his brow raised in query. She gave him a respectful bow, and then keeping her head lowered, shook it slightly from side to side to indicate that there was nothing wrong.

_{we will speak later} {later} {later} {later} {later}_

She shivered as his mind invaded hers to convey his brief message and then withdrew as the Commander began to speak, aloud, for the benefit of the worshippers gathered behind the Wraith.

"We are set back," he said, the tones in his voice merging and swirling around the clearing, "but we are not defeated; damaged but not destroyed and we _will_ continue. Take heart, those of you that serve us, we _will_ rise again – and soon."

Jethera could not help but wonder when. She was not stupid and it seemed to her that the ships gathered in the meadow beyond the village were too few to mount a defence should any other Hive come against them.

"We will continue to gather the resources we need, as we were doing before the attack came," the Commander went on, "and among those resources will be the fuel we need for the rebuilding of our Hive…"

**

Malcolm took a breath, long and slow, to calm the irritation rising in him. How could the Commander not feel the _waves_ of affliction coming from the Queen, and how could he flaunt his Human plaything at his side, especially as disgraced as she had been before the loss of the Hive?

Perhaps he should step in and suggest the woman to the Queen as a possible candidate, since she would have to choose one from among her people to begin the creation of her new Hive – and sooner rather than later. Their defences, even once the cruisers had returned to them, were fragile at best.

He huffed slightly as he glanced at her and caught a coquettish smile in return. Perhaps his _best_ recourse would be to lure her to his quarters, appearing to be responding to the, somewhat obvious, advances she was throwing his way, and once he had her there, to feed on her until she was nothing more than dust.

He growled softly and flexed his feeding hand.

**

_=go to my Second= =to my Second= =my Second= =Second= =Second= =he is discomposed= =discomposed= =discomposed= =discomposed=_

The instruction was a whisper in her mind, but filled with sincere concern, and this puzzled Jethera enough for her to forget that obedience would bring her to the attention of the assembled masses.

She moved around behind the Queen and the other handmaidens and stepped forward to reach out timidly and brush an almost touch against the side of his flexing hand.

"Lord Second," she whispered when he cast a glance her way. "The Queen bids me tend you. What are your needs?"

"I have none, girl," he murmured softly, "It was merely a fleeting thought that disturbed me."

_{pay it no mind, my Queen} {pay it no mind} {no mind} {no mind} {my Queen}_

Jethera blinked. Why should he allow her to hear his response to the Queen? This one, she knew, did nothing without a reason. Was he bidding her to seek the reason? Her mind whirled, and she felt a touch of approval from the Second.

She glanced at him again and this time saw that his eyes were fixed on the woman that stood simpering at the Commander's side. She filled her mind with understanding, not certain if the Second would read her thoughts or not. It mattered little. She acted in obedience to the Queen…

_{for the good of the Hive, watch that one} {watch that one} {that one} {that one} {that one} {obey me in this one thing} {obey me in this} {obey me in this} {obey me} {obey me}_

"I obey the Queen and she has bidden me tend you," Jethera murmured at his side, making her own position absolutely clear.

There were always rumours among the worshippers about those in the upper echelons of the Hive, but there were never so many as existed concerning the Second. He was somewhat of an enigma among the worshippers, and the stories named him as not being from the Elder's Hive at all. While this was not particularly unusual – quite often allied commanders and sub-commanders ensured their life by swearing fealty to the strongest Queen of their alliance if their own Hive were destroyed in battle – in the case of the Hive Second, it was said that he had come from a place only _whispered_ of in the minds of the ranking Wraith.

He had quickly, so the stories said, risen through the ranks of the Hive, and not with the usual accompanying blood bath. His ascension had been subtle, quiet and above all unquestionable. In fact, some said, they could not see how or why he had not taken the Commander from his fragile perch long ago.

These were just stories, told from one pureborn mother to her child, from pureborn father to his son. However, enjoined in mind to mind contact with the Wraith about whom they, and other tales, were told, Jethera couldn't help but wonder at the truth of them – and just how understated that, too, was.

She shivered, and at his behest stepped back to her place behind the Queen.

**

Teyla woke alone.

Her memory of having fallen asleep was hazy at best, almost dreamlike, and she ached in a way that was of strong emotions that defied any clear explanation, save one, and that she was not yet ready to concede.

She sat up, trying to stretch out the physical aches, and the soft blanket he'd used to cover her fell away, tugging her shirt against the wound on her chest. She winced slightly…

_She barely felt the withdrawal of his touch, only the warmth of the hand with which he cradled the back of her neck, holding her against his chest, breathing as hard as was she, his mind within hers an echo of the rhapsody._

_She turned her head slightly, resting her cheek against his shirt. His heartbeat was already slowing to normal, the rise and fall of his chest gave her comfort. She felt his fingers shift against the skin of her neck and failed to stop the voiced sigh that escaped her at the touch._

_"Teyla?" He called her name as a soft query. She swallowed hard._

_"Michael, I…"_

_He eased her up, away from him and she looked up to find his eyes moving slowly as if he were taking in the sight of her anew._

_"I am all right," she said softly._

_He tilted his head, his lips parting slightly as a prelude to speech. The movement drew her eyes, and she could not tear them away. Her hand twitched against his shoulder as she fought to hold its place… not to touch._

_"You __**must**__ rest," he told her slowly, turning his head to look at her hand, before he tilted it the other way as he brought his gaze back to capture her eyes with his own. She fell into the gold of their querying intensity, her breathing quickened, and she raised her free hand to bring a trembling touch to rest against his chest and he continued, "Please, Teyla, do not fight me in this one thing. Rest."_

…swinging her legs around to the side of the bed to rise, she pressed her hand against her chest and rose unsteadily to her feet, crossing the room to the viewing port. They were still at rest, the grey gasses of the nebula swirling around the Hive, presumably as protection while the ship recovered from the effects of being in hyperspace, and she suddenly wondered just how far they were to travel.

She turned her head slightly as she heard the door open, to find an unfamiliar figure, another of Michael's hybrids, waiting just inside the door, and pulling the front of her shirt so that it straightened somewhat, she turned to face the hybrid.

"Yes?" she asked when he did not immediately speak.

"I am Rissek," he gave her a respectful nod. "He has asked me to bring you to more suitable quarters than these. If you will permit me to guide you…"

He stood aside from the door and gestured out into the corridor.

Teyla looked around the quarters and considered arguing that they were perfectly adequate. The last time she had been aboard Michael's ship, the quarters she had been given were no better, and she could not help but realise, suddenly, the position she was in. The presence of the hybrid, conveying Michael's wishes, doing his bidding… all was familiar, as before. Was she not here of her own volition this time? After everything in the last several hours, did he still not trust her?

"W…why did he not come himself?" she asked, wrapping her arms around herself.

"There were matters that required his immediate attention," Rissek told her. "Please, your quarters are waiting for you. I am certain that he will come to you there. In the meantime, I have orders to ensure your comfort; to see to your needs."

Unsettled, Teyla took a deep breath and peeled away from the bulkhead, and trying not to allow her mounting nervousness to get the better of her, approached Rissek. If Michael was trying to keep her off balance, his success only became more apparent as she passed the hybrid and he did not immediately grasp her elbow in order to _guide_ her. They always had before.

Perhaps, then, she had not dreamed the relative gentleness she had seen in Michael's eyes.

**

The hybrid's worry turned to fear, and fear to panic as he watched the expression on his master's face turn from one of consternation, through anger to a wry coldness as his head tipped to the side, regarding him uncompromisingly.

"What did I do wrong?" the hybrid asked, struggling with the soldiers even before they brought him to a halt in front of their commander. "How have I failed you?"

"Tell me everything."

He stumbled as the soldiers released him, and realised that in his terrified state, he had completely missed the mental instruction to the others that must surely have come, since next, they turned without a word, and left him alone before their leader, who took a controlled step back, out of reach. The meaning was clear – there would be no aid, no support forthcoming.

Dread stuck in his throat and he almost choked in an effort to answer.

"I followed your instructions," he protested, "to the letter – I did not deviate. I told him where to find the key to the recombination, just like you asked. I was discrete in the way I delivered the information. There was no way he could have known my aid was anything other than a betrayal of your research – just as you instructed. Everything you demanded of me I performed to th—"

"Then why," the tone was like a whip that cut across the words that were tumbling from his mouth, "did the Wraith scientist specifically question me about Raltara – eighteen, zero-five, forty-eight – negative thirty, twenty-five, twenty-six?"

"I… I told him nothing!" he yelped, trying to back away as his leader advanced on him but the vice clamped around his mind without warning, halting his muscles and then driving him to his knees.

"Do you think my capacity still weakened? Do you believe I am still flawed – injured?"

"No… no, I—" he stammered.

"Then stop wasting my time."

"It is the truth, I swear," the hybrid looked up at his creator. "All I gave him were the amino acid chains. I—"

"You _gave_ him the knowledge of their existence, and the origins of much of my work." He-that-led-them circled around behind him, and the hybrid could only hear the movements he made; imagine with horror the instruments that were being prepared; what ignominious death awaited him for whatever act of failure – and he realised then it did not truly matter what he had done or had not done – that the Wraith-Human hybrid he served believed he had committed. "You were told to avoid specifics; to ensure he believed the process had been due to constant trial and error; to prevent any thought or mention of—"

"The Returned," the hybrid murmured. He could not have anticipated the response.

The hand in his hair was uncompromising and pulled back until his neck ached with the unnatural angle, and the breath rasped in and out of his body through constricted airways. The cold press of the blade at his throat made every muscle tense in anticipation of the coming darkness, but still, painful hope bubbled in his chest as his master hissed beside his ear, breath stirring against his cheek.

"You will not speak those words again." The skin against his face was Wraith-cool, but warming fast in contact with his own. "When did you work it out? How much did you see? Answer, quickly!"

Knowing that the answer he gave would be the difference between his continued existence, albeit in a different state than this, and a sudden, likely painful death, the hybrid gasped, "Your… research."

The pressure on his neck eased enough for him to be given the opportunity to speak more easily.

"Not enough," his master's breath barely brushed against his hair.

_-not enough- -enough- -enough- -enough- -enough-_

"When you made it… clear what my… duties were," he said, still finding breathing hard, "I grew curious… accessed the database."

"Why?"

He fell forward as he was suddenly released, physically and mentally; barely had the chance to stretch out his arms to catch himself.

"Because of what I saw… when _she_ was here before," he admitted softly, though explaining nothing.

"Why?" his master repeated, an icier blast yet as the compulsion to answer pushed into his mind. He tried to resist, afraid of the reprisals the truth was sure to bring.

"Teyla," he gasped, trying to stop himself from talking. "Because of the—"

His mind was ahead of the words, as he tried desperately to stop the outpouring of the truth. He realised his error only in the moment that the hand slammed against the middle of his back and propelled him through the air toward the far bulkhead of the laboratory. He felt his ribs crack, and the rush of what little breath he possessed as he connected with the unforgiving surface.

His master had seen everything.

**

The smell of burning roused her, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out as the flames leaped from where they cracked against the bulkhead, to kindle against the sleeve of her dress, and their heat began searing her flesh. She slapped at the flames with a bloodied hand, extinguishing them quickly.

The cry she had sublimated burst from Isla a moment later when the bulkhead beside her exploded as the flames reached a power node, and forgetting the need for stealth for a moment she scrambled out of the narrow space into which she'd crammed herself, into the rear compartment of the transport ship on which she had stowed away in order to escape the Hive.

She tripped and falling to her hands and knees, turned around suddenly to scramble away backwards, almost screaming again as a hand flopped against her ankle. The Wraith drone attached to it was quite dead, as were several others she could now see littering the cargo area of the ship.

She took a huge breath, and held it to calm the panic rising in her, only letting it out with a barely contained moan when her lungs ached in protest.

Pushing herself to her feet again, she staggered forward toward the control centre of the ship. If the drones were dead it was a fair expectation that there were injuries, perhaps even death among the other Wraith aboard the ship, and her duty demanded that—

She stopped in the open doorway, looking at the single Wraith sub-commander slumped over the control podium. She could see that he was injured – bleeding from a gash she could see that ran along his side – and that he had lost consciousness spoke of others she could not see.

She should go to him; tend his wounds… but… if he woke, injured as he was, his first instinct would be to feed on her; to regenerate.

Leaning heavily against the bulkhead she turned to look at the rear of the ship. If she could find a way to open the hatch she stood a chance – chance to get back to the others; a chance to find her master… a chance to live.

Cautiously, barely moving with each step, she began to inch her way toward the controls.

**

The tray Michael carried was laden with the supplies that would be needed. Any that saw him would think him impassive, yet beneath the surface he seethed, his temper would not be placated, and was only fuelled by the knowledge that this unacceptable delay had been caused by the necessity of dealing with the traitor.

He took a breath, another attempt to calm himself before he reached the suite of quarters at the centre of the Hive. Given what they had to discuss, it would not do for him to be agitated when attending to her needs.

"Michael," she stood from where she was sitting on the side of the low bed to greet him as he entered.

He stopped, setting down the tray and tilting his head to regard her, halting her as she began to walk toward him with the slight shake of his head.

"I have brought you fresh clothing in case you wish to change, and water for washing, though you have bathing facilities through those doors," he nodded toward a set of doors on the far side of the chamber. "However, I must treat the wound I have inflicted on you."

"It is all right," she said, "Michael, I—"

"I insist," his tone was unyielding. "Sit."

She didn't, but he picked up the medical supplies from the tray anyway and crossed the rest of the way to her. He waited beside the bed, where she had just been sitting, looking at her pointedly until she joined him, and they could both sit, so that his hands could be free to apply the necessary treatment.

"I trust these quarters are acceptable," he said as he filled a large syringe with a saline wash.

"They are more than acceptable," she said watching his hands for a moment before looking up at him.

**

Her eyes found his, finding him watching her. He was waiting. Trying not to be obvious about her nervousness, she unfastened the shirt she wore enough that he could easily reach the feeding mark he had left on her chest. He handed her a piece of gauze, as before, careful to ensure there was little or no contact between their hands.

"Hold this beneath the wound, it will catch the solution," he said, and pausing for a beat he added, "It will sting."

She prepared herself, but even so hissed as he squeezed the fluid over the raw space in the centre of her chest, and carefully used antiseptic covered swabs to clean away what blood remained, evidence of her complicity in his healing. Tears came to her eyes.

He was thorough and by the time he was done, she was breathless from the stink of the solution.

"Wait!" she gasped, as he moved to take the gauze from her, and to dry the area.

"It must be dressed," he told her.

"For just a moment," she caught his wrist, "please."

Michael nodded, and got up to take the container of solution and the syringe back to the tray. She couldn't help but notice the slight shuffle in his step, as though he favoured his left leg.

"You are limping," she said.

"It will pass," he assured her, turning to look at her across the distance, "when my healing is complete."

"And when will that be? You—" She broke off as he returned to her, and sat once more.

"You need not worry," he said, his words overlapping hers. "My recovery will be complete… thanks to you. Now…"

Michael reached to pick up a small jar and unscrewed the lid. The air came alive with a slightly pungent scent that only increased as he picked up a small wooden spatula and used it to pick up some of the contents of the jar. She watched his hands again, still wary, the trust fragile at best, indefinably strained.

_-I will not harm you- -not harm you- -no harm-_

"I gave you my word," he added aloud as though still not confident in the bond she so clearly felt returning.

"What is it?" she asked, peering at the greenish-white paste.

"A regenerative compound," he told her, "with antiseptic qualities – quite harmless."

As if to prove his point he applied some of the paste from the wooden spatula to a deep scratch she had not previously noticed on the back of his left hand.

"What happened?" she asked, frowning as she watched the thick paste dissolve into his skin, almost immediately subduing the redness around the scratch.

"Nothing of consequence," he told her, then his voice softened as he added, "May I?"

Swallowing, she nodded and was unable to shake the feeling that – far from being of _no_ consequence – whatever had occurred was of great significance, especially between the two of them.

_-do not push- -not push- -push- -push- -push- -push-_

The mental tone was weary and she realised then just how tired he was. He hid it well, but it was there, disguised in the deliberate way he picked up a clear wooden spatula and with it, spread the restorative compound against her still tender chest.

"With you, it may take a little longer to have a full effect," he said, but she shook her head.

Already she could feel an icy tingling spreading from the area over which he had applied it. It was not a painful feeling, but discomforting in the strangeness, almost like the scurrying of tiny feet over and into her flesh.

"Good." He rumbled the word, and she watched his face as he raised his eyes to find hers. "It is better than I could have—"

"Michael," she interrupted, "aboard the other Hive, when I was trying to find you; to reach you, the Queen—"

At the mention of the Queen an intense fury came over him and, more quickly than she could hope to counter, he reached out to catch her by the arms and draw her closer.

"I told you _never _to attempt contact with her," he snarled fiercely. "She could have killed you!"

Conflicting emotions warred within her in response to his anger. On the one hand she felt her own bubbling anger, rising to drive her to respond, and yet, a part of her knew his reaction was born of the concern he showed for her, and found herself warming to that.

"But she did not," she told him earnestly, pushing at his chest to try and free herself. "And in her mind I saw—"

"Forget what you thought you saw," he ordered harshly.

"But she—"

"No!" he snapped, his tone colder than the protective mental whisper that wrapped around her; began to relax the pressure of her arm that still pushed, struggling against him; tried to change the subject. "It is irrelevant."

"You do not believe that," she accused, feeling the underlying fear and resentful aggression. "You are afraid."

"Do not…!" he roared, then breathing hard let go and rose to pace back and forth across the space in front of her. She almost fell at the sudden nature of the movement, the lack of something against which to push. As he turned to point angrily at her, she rose to her own feet and he continued, "Do not seek to guess what I believe and do not believe! The Elder is dead – killed in the explosion that destroyed her Hive."

"Then why do I still feel your fear?" she demanded, walking toward his still outstretched hand.

"I am afraid _for_ _you_," he said, his tone never more imploring, but as she reached him, reached for him, he snatched his hand away. She stood for a moment, eyes locked with his, caught between his words and the feelings that were rushing up on her at his admission and the only sound between them was their unsteady, shallow breath.

She felt his mind in hers, the strength of the protection he held waiting for her… that was hers if only for the want of it… felt a confused and desolate loneliness that spun around a single point of hope – the dangerous potential for too much change…

Empathy flared as a nervous longing, a need she pushed aside, clinging to established sophistry even as she took a step toward him, but he swallowed hard and looked away and she halted.

"Th…there is food," he said, gesturing, and then walking, to the table on which he had set the larger tray on which he had carried things, his back toward her as he spoke. "Bread and cold meats, cheeses – little enough until we make our next stop, but I… will provide for your needs, Teyla."

The fingertips of his left hand came to rest on the top of the table as he stood looking down. She crossed the short distance to stand behind him; raise the fingertips of her opposite hand to barely brush between his shoulder blades.

"Michael, you—"

His head snapped up, startling her to silence. He turned his head to give her an almost-smile, awkward… tense and said, "I will leave you to your comfort." His eyes darted away again as he added, "If there is anything you require you have only to ask it of one of my men."

…_one of your men…_

The thought left her unbidden… of one of his men, not of him. She saw him straighten, and he took a step away.

"There is work I must attend to," he said. The tone was soft, but it was one that would brook no debate. She sighed softly, and closed her eyes as he went to retrieve the tray of medical supplies he had brought. She heard, rather than saw, his steps carry him out of the room.

**

_"I'm telling you, Michael, it won't work," Beckett said, frustration pouring from every syllable he spoke. "For transcription to begin, the DNA must have a core promoter sequence. You—"_

_"I know that, Doctor," Michael answered, and Beckett could tell that he was stretching his patience, but he refused to be careful. Michael was constantly asking the impossible, and he was tired of the threats that accompanied the expectation that they would find solutions to almost fundamental interference with the natural order of life._

_"Then how can y'expect to—"_

_"The promoter sequence exists," Michael raised his voice slightly. "There."_

_"Aye, but that's not for the strand we were talking about," Beckett sighed, "Face it, Michael, this method is just too complex and requires far too much direct manipulation for the subject to survive."_

_"It __**must**__ be made possible," Michael snarled._

_"And what are you going to threaten me with __**this**__ time?" Beckett demanded. "None of it will change the fact that without some pre-existing genetic variance from genotype, the two, no matter how similar, are far too incompatible to be able to produce viable cell division."_

_"What kind of variance?"_

Michael's question echoed over and over, a clarion that disturbed his remembrance and made him push back his chair in preparation for standing.

"Carson?" McKay asked, obviously startled.

"Maybe I've been going about this all the wrong way," he said, shaking his head as he caught sight of his own reflection in the mirror-like darkened windows of the mess hall.

"About what?" McKay said, "Eating? I'll say. You've hardly touched any of your food."

"No, Rodney," he answered, "about figuring out what's goin' on with Jennifer."

"What do you mean?" McKay asked, frowning.

"I've been basing my investigations on what… might have happened to her at the hands of the Wraith," he said.

"Todd, you mean," McKay snorted.

"Aye, if you say so," Beckett answered absently, then leaning forward added, "but I've completely overlooked the fact that he and Jennifer were working with one of the most insidious infections I've been _stupid_ enough to encounter."

He saw McKay make the leap immediately, and that surprised him.

"Are you trying to tell me you think Jennifer is infected with the Hoffan drug?" he asked, horror in his voice.

Beckett shook his head. "I've found no traces of it in her blood screen, but that doesn't mean it's not responsible for her current condition. She and Todd were working on trying to find a cure, or at least a way to neutralise the infection, make it safe for the Wraith to feed."

"Yes," McKay said slowly.

"Don't you see, Rodney," Beckett reached across the table to grip McKay by the wrist. McKay yelped. "In order to do that they'd need to manipulate the receptors in both the Wraith and Human blood cells. If she somehow came into contact with _any_ of that research material…"

"Or with the retrovirus?" McKay asked.

"Retrovirus?"

"To cure Sheppard," McKay's frown deepened as Beckett's own creased with his lack of understanding. "To reverse the hybridisation that the alternate Michael subjected him to, when we accidentally went to that universe from M3F-227?"

"You have _got_ to be kidding me, McKay!" Beckett suddenly couldn't breathe. A mutated form of the Hoffan drug by itself was bad enough, but with the added possibilities of exposure to a retrovirus at the same time. Letting go of McKay he got to his feet. He needed to be in the lab working. "Why the _hell_ wasn't I told about any of this?"

"Well," McKay stammered, looking up at him, "It didn't seem relevant to the fact that Todd more than likely raped Keller."

**

Michael checked the simulation, and the projected outcome of the manipulation for a fifth time. This had been the point at which his plans had come unravelled – almost literally – the last time, when the slightest mistake in his calculations had caused the degradation in his DNA. Apparently his Wraith heritage, the insidious weakness he now exploited, was tenacious, and defied rejection, genetically or... otherwise.

He closed his eyes for a moment and sighed, remembering her insistence, her logic… the strength and healing she had willingly given up to him. His head tilted in thought, reaching along the bond, strengthened now not only by the child, but by the Gift they had shared… as Queen and her Commander – almost.

She was resting – sleeping. He nodded to himself, relieved. After everything that she had been through, she needed to rest, as did he… but there was yet so much to be done. First he must complete the modifications to his DNA to completely undo the transformation that the Wraith scientist had forced upon him. Soon it would be over, and he could rest as they travelled to their destination.

Teyla's mind stirred, and curious, he reached out again, still at rest, but she was dreaming, dreaming of her child… and though she dreamed of the baby, in spite of his accusations, Michael realised that Teyla had not yet asked after the child. The two facts did not fit side by side with his suspicion that the boy was her only reason for having come to him.

Michael sighed as the painful twinge of hope twisted against his psyche, and turned his head to look to the chamber wherein the child slept. Perhaps it was time…

A muted snarling from the doorway broke in on his considerations of the child and he turned his head to watch as two of his hybrids dragged the partly subdued queen between them.

Abandoning his place at the computer, he moved to the side of the unoccupied operating table, to coordinate securing the queen in place with the hybrids. Afterwards, he dismissed them without a word.

Slowly he walked around the table looking down on his captive as he had the would-be mutineer that occupied the laboratory's other operating station. She struggled fiercely, but only for a moment before she lay back and fixed him with her hunger-rimmed eyes.

"What have you done to me?" she said bitterly.

"They tell me you have been uncooperative in my absence."

He did not answer her question. It would do her little good to possess the knowledge she demanded.

"Why would I not?" she growled as he came to a halt. "When the only vision I see of my future is death."

"Far from it," he said, feigning boredom and the queen snorted, evidently disbelieving.

He reached to pick up a syringe with a very long, very fine needle attached, holding it so that she could clearly see.

"Liar," she accused.

"I do not seek your death," he said softly, though with great menace as he leaned closer. "Not yet."

_-not yet- -yet- -yet- -yet- -yet-_

He allowed the image of his intent to flow over her mind, showing her clearly the fate to which they had brought her and the results he expected gleaned from the many simulations he had run.

"Get out of my mind!" she snarled at him, struggling against the restraints on the operating table. "I told you – I told your slaves – I will _never_ give you what you want."

He tilted his head in wry amusement at her defiance.

"What makes you think," he asked softly, "that I expect you to _give_ anything to me? Do you really think you would be _here_ if I intended anything other than to _take_ from you that which I require?"

He felt her attempt to reach into his mind and force a stay of his hand as he moved the needle toward her body, weak and ineffectual, but an attempt none-the-less. In return he pushed the full strength of his mind around hers, leaving her gasping softly. Holding her in place he watched the screen beside the operating table as he activated the inbuilt scanner to guide his needle aspiration of the genetic material he would take from her before he began to administer the necessary serum to begin the next stage of the experiment.

"I see your palsy has improved," she said, and her tone mocked him, hissing as he pushed the needle into place.

"Do not seek to anger me," he warned her. "It will not work, so you are wasting your time and I think you will find that what little you have left, that you will remember, will be precious to you."

Carefully he withdrew the needle, and carried the acquired base material directly to the waiting test tube, depositing it quickly into the luminous fluid within. Setting down the syringe he picked up the test tube and holding it between finger and thumb, held it aloft, as if he could see the microscopic sample within.

"However, you need not fear," he said, almost as though he were musing, "should I have miscalculated in the simulation of the next step in the process, you… and all the others will not be… entirely lost to time."

Suddenly business-like once more, he turned and approached the workbench where the stasis unit stood open and waiting to receive the queen's sample.

"What of that one," the queen asked, her voice flat, bitter.

He looked up to find her head turned to regard the hybrid on the other table. Of necessity he had trusted that one. Allowed him access to key systems – key research – and the trust had been betrayed. He had questioned the progression of The Cause based only on glimpses of the whole, and on a _very_ mistaken observation…

_He advanced on the hybrid even before he had crashed against the far wall, reached to grab him by the neck and haul him to his feet. The hybrid scratched ineffectually at the back of his hand in an attempt to get him to release his throat, allow him to breathe._

_Michael slammed him back against the bulkhead._

_"Because of the combination of Wraith and Human DNA within her? How much did you see?" Even before he gave the hybrid a chance to answer, Michael continued, "You know __**nothing**__ of which you speak and your false impression is traitorous."_

_"Traitorous?" the hybrid gasped, clearly terrified, but not backing down. "You speak of her as though she were a—"_

_"Teyla is no mere queen," Michael snarled, beginning to drag the hybrid toward the operating table. "She carries no flaw."_

"But your anger…" the queen growled softly, and Michael narrowed his eyes, realising she had felt the echo of the emotion that had driven his retribution. Even knowing that the hybrid had saved Teyla when he could have left her to die after the explosive decompression aboard the Elder's Hive, he could not allow one with such an opinion to continue uncurbed. "Your anger was driven by something more."

Michael tilted his head, closing down on the queen and beginning to prepare the lines and tubes that would connect the Wraith to the generative fluid in the tank close by the table on which she was restrained.

"If I were to believe that you could possibly be redeemed, I might pity you," he said softly, leaning over her to pierce her eyes with his gaze, "but you… and your kind, are contemptible and will _always_ be."

**

"You sent for me, Lord?"

Malcolm barely looked up from the tablet as the soft voice sounded from the doorway of his quarters, knowing it would be Jethera – the Queen's handmaiden that had come to him in the field. At the same time he breathed out a long slow breath to banish the memory.

_"You sent for me, my Lord?"_

"The woman," he said, his voice as clipped as his belly was churning. "The former handmaiden."

"Merihanna," Jethera said.

"Yes," he said, and did look up then, and for a moment his vision shifted into memory.

_She was young… small and timid yet, though he knew she had a potential that he would nurture. Her white-blonde hair hung down her back with barely a curl, and her slight form hid strength, and a truth that he knew… yet those Attendants that still lived, did not. She regarded him nervously, but her deep green gaze was steady._

He blinked, and took a breath, before closing his eyes in a long slow blink to open them again.

"Jethera," he said, "it is very important to me to discover the movements and the purpose of that one."

"You want me to _spy_ on her?" Jethera asked, "Against the Queen's Commander?"

Without a word he set down the tablet he was holding and unfolded himself to his full height, making a slow advance toward the feisty young handmaiden.

"I serve the Queen," she added, her tone more fearful as he moved.

"Time is coming, girl," he said, releasing his triple tones around the room, "When _you_ must decide how best to _do_ that."

She yelped as his hand closed around her wrist and he dragged her further into the room, pulling her back toward where he had been sitting on the side of his bed, feeling her unfolding panic as she fought with him, pointlessly and ineffectual, but a fight all the same.

"No! Lord, no!" she gasped, mistaking his purpose.

Without correcting her for the moment, he pushed her the rest of the way to the bed and coming to one knee, trapping her there with his presence, he dragged the tablet toward her, and grasped the back of her neck.

"Look at it," he ordered, his voice uncompromising, yet soft. "Read!"

"What is it?" she asked, her breathless voice trembling.

"Read it," he commanded, pushing against her mind now, tired of her fear.

_{read… I will not harm you} {read} {read} {read} {read} {read}_

As she began, he released her and sat back on his heels, watching and feeling the past come creeping over him again.

_::do you read, girl?:: ::read, girl:: ::read, girl:: ::read::_

_Isla's entire body trembled against his hand, resting lightly in the small of her back. He could feel her terrified awe; feel the edge of her tears biting deeply against her sensibilities._

_"Mm…my Matron… my Queen I… I do." Isla answered._

_Malcolm felt the touch of Her mind in his, drawing them both closer, even as she hissed, and swayed her head to the side, examining them both. Then, without a warning the Matron waved her hand toward the far wall of the chamber, and Wraith characters began to tumble from ceiling to floor, a rapid catalogue, repeating over and over._

_"Read… girl…" The Matron's deep, atonal voice vibrated through him – so rarely used, she honoured Isla with the sound of it. "Under…stand."_

_::this is a catalogue of all we have lost to this war:: ::this is those that you have saved this day:: ::you have served him well:: ::you will go with him:: ::be with him:: ::there is much for him to do and he will have need of your hand:: ::but…::_

_Malcolm's breathing quickened as the Matron's explanation rolling over them both stopped suddenly. He looked up, and saw that the Queen was poised, barely a breath away from Isla. She hissed softly, her razor sharp fingertips running down the length of Isla's body._

_::one day… I will call you to serve __**me**__ and at that time… at __**that**__ time…::_

_Understanding dawned in Malcolm and he gasped audibly as if she had taken a knife to his gut; eviscerated him where he stood._

"All of this?" Jethera looked up at him, her eyes filled with horror as though she reflected the emotions of his memory back to him.

He nodded slowly, swallowing hard to maintain his control. "All of that. Now do you see why it is important?"

"I do, Lord," she breathed, a rush of breath. "Does the Queen know? Her Commander?"

"No," he said. "And nor _are_ they to know from your lips. The Commander should know for himself and it is _his_ duty, not mine, to inform the Queen."

"But this—" she held out the tablet toward him, and he took it.

"Is a record of what we have lost in the battle, nothing more," he said, "than proof of what his carelessness has wrought, and of one Human given far too much power to influence a feeble mind."

He tilted his head as he spoke, reaching out toward her with his feeding hand, holding her in place with his own vice-like mental grasp, watching her breathing quicken as his fingertips brushed her sternum.

"I… will…" she fought him for the ability to speak, eventually forcing out the two short words.

"You will watch her," he said, hissing softly amid the triple tones of his voice that ran, sing-song, around the woman as he turned his hand as he ran it upward, to cup her chin and bring her to her feet as he rose to his own. "And you will report to me, and me alone."

"It… shall be…" she gasped tremulously, "as you command… Lord."

**

Woolsey looked up as he heard the footsteps approaching his office, and fixed a neutral expression onto his tired face.

"Come in, Major," he invited as the young officer hesitated by the door. "I hope I didn't disturb anything with my call."

"Not at all, sir," Hollick replied. "Just me and the boys getting a little R&R before the mission."

"Please, sit down." Woolsey nodded toward the chair in front of his desk. "There's something I'd like to discuss."

"If this is about the altercation with Colonel—"

Woolsey held up his hand. "It's fine, Major. In actual fact, I wanted to talk to you about taking a little more command responsibility."

"Sir?"

"I have a… mission for you – for want of a better word," he said, leaning back in his chair and regarding the major frankly. "More of a directive, really – relative to your assault on the Wraith with Colonel Sheppard and the others."

"I'm listening," Major Hollick finally sat down, not quite at ease, leaning forward slightly in the chair.

"I've always been able to count on you, Daniel," Woolsey said softly, "to be discrete."

"Yes, sir," Hollick said.

"And to follow orders," Woolsey added.

"Of course."

"For… reasons I can't go into," Woolsey waved a hand dismissively, adding, "I'm sure you understand – it's been decided that one of those Wraith prisoners Colonel Sheppard is so insistent on taking, should be the Queen herself… if she survived."

"Makes sense, Mister Woolsey," Hollick agreed. "She is their leader, after all, will know more about—"

"Exactly," Woolsey nodded. "So… I'm putting you and your team in charge of making sure that if she's still alive, she's captured – along with any other Wraith prisoners the Colonel wishes to take."

Hollick nodded once. "Consider it done, Mister Woolsey."

"Thank you, Major," he said, beginning to turn his chair, subtly dismissing the man. He heard Hollick get to his feet. "One more thing, Daniel."

"Sir?"

"If you should happen to come upon any further Intel, from the Wraith survivors – or their technology, the kind that we might otherwise not be able to… convince the Wraith to reveal under interrogation…"

"I'll be sure to see what I can find, sir," Hollick said, nodding his understanding. "Anything… specific?"

"Certainly if there's anything you can find concerning our personnel… or former personnel," he paused for just a moment, turning to watch the understanding creep over the young Major's face. "And of course, then there's Michael…"

**

The tension in the room was palpable as the three sat, waiting for the sub-commander to place the stasis container carefully on the table.

"You are certain that all is in place, my Commander," the Queen purred, glancing at him. Malcolm tilted his head, questioningly, interested in the answer that the Commander would give, since it had been he that had made the necessary arrangements, including the selection of the Worshippers that would sacrifice themselves for the sake of the continuance of their Hive.

"Everything is ready, My Queen," he said, lowering his head in a respectful bow. "We are ready to proceed."

The sub-commander finally stepped away from the stasis container, and bowed as he backed away. Malcolm couldn't help but give a wry, inward smile at the subordinate's haste to depart.

_=leave us= =leave= =leave=_

"You have given thought to containment?" the Queen asked of the commander. "It would not do for all of us to become infected; for there to be a Hive and no Wraith to give it life."

"I… that is…" the Commander stammered.

"Containment will be made possible by the use of one of our small cargo vessels that was damaged during the descent to this world," Malcolm said, speaking out of turn, he knew, but it was too painful to watch the other Wraith stumble so much, for all that he detested the pitiful creature. "As we speak it is being moved to the site deemed suitable to support the growth of the organism."

_=you serve me well= =serve me well= =well= =well= =well=_

Malcolm slowly inclined his head in acknowledgement of her praise. If only she knew…

"And the chosen?"

"In seclusion," the Commander said hurriedly.

"Then… come dawn on this miserable rock," the Queen's distaste was clear not only in the words she spoke, but in the wave of emotion that buffeted Malcolm as he sat to her left. "In the meantime, once you have informed your two immediate sub-commanders, return here, and together we will contact those that command our cruisers and bid them return."

"Yes, my Queen." The Commander bowed, and rose to his feet, prepared to leave.

Malcolm remained where he was, his head bowed.

_{my Queen…}_

_=leave me, my Second= =later… we will speak=_

She had heard his unvoiced request by virtue of the touch she sent briefly to his mind, and the images he had left there, of the necessity to place in orbit some of their Darts. He felt grounded and vulnerable, and it would take some time for the recalled cruisers to reach them.

_{I understand}_

He rose from the chair, refusing to be drawn by the querying expression he glimpsed on the Commander's face.

"I will see to your request, my Queen," he said for good measure, knowing that it would play to the Commander's rising paranoia and before anything more could be said, he slipped past him and left the gathering hall.

**

Every part of him ached from the tips of the fingers of his right hand, to the deep burning in his gut. Michael knew it was a side effect of the treatment he had finally been satisfied was safe enough for him to take. The action of yet another retrovirus with which he reshaped himself, but even that knowledge was cold comfort against the consuming fatigue the constant pain wrought on him.

Though he tried to disguise it, refusing to show weakness in front of his men, his steps dragged as he travelled the corridors between the laboratory and the Queen's Chambers at the centre of the Hive, but there was one more thing that he must do before he allowed himself to succumb to the necessity of rest.

The infant in Michael's arms, though awake, lay quietly acquiescent against the warmed leather of the long coat he wore, nestled as though taking that warmth from the chest against which he was cradled.

Michael took a deep breath. This would be the test of her sincerity, of the words she had spoken to him, and a chill caught in the sudden trembling he fought to contain within his body. Once Teyla had her son – what then?

**

Teyla became aware of Michael the moment he entered the outer room of the suite and felt his fatigue coming ahead of him in waves. As the inner door opened she began to turn.

"Don't…!" his voice shattered the space between them. "Don't… turn around."

_-we are not alone- -wait- -wait- -wait-_

She took a breath, shivering at the mental tone, even through his fatigue, the unexpected warmth she felt there, in comparison to the tone of his voice.

Standing still and silent, she tried to make a picture of the sounds she could hear. Booted footsteps crossed the room to set something down close beside the bed. As it scraped across the chitinous material of the biopolymer floor, she thought it had a wooden quality. She frowned in confusion as the sound of those steps retreated toward the door and were gone, and almost afraid, she turned her head to see what they had set down.

The wooden crib was a perfect replica of those made by her people, the base of it covered with a deep pillow. The blankets looked soft and warm. She gasped softly and spun to fully face Michael.

"Teyla…" he said softly, and moved toward her, an unmistakeable bundle held in his arms.

Tears blurred her vision as Michael set her son into her arms. The baby's warmth and softness, the clean child's scent rushing over her, winding around her. Trembling, she reached up to uncover him enough to see him better, blinking away the tears. Even in the dim light of the chamber she could tell he was hale and whole – unblemished… and then the child's fingers closed around the side of her shaking hand.

A relief so deep it was painful followed in the wake of the touch, and the tears became sobs, and the sobs so intense that she could not catch her breath between. Unashamed, oblivious, she cradled her son against her, giving voice to the emptiness of the months since his birth, so suddenly filled.

She stumbled, her knees turning to water beneath her. She didn't register Michael's movement until his hands slipped beneath her own, supportive and strong as he guided her through the few steps toward the bed, and to sit.

"My son," she wept, rocking the baby against her, and lowering her cheek to rest against his warm young body, whispered, "Nethaiye…"

**

Michael turned, releasing Teyla with the motion, the echo of the whisper filling his every awareness, subsuming his mind in the fathomless need and palpable epiphany of a solace… denied.

Almost counting the steps he must take to reach the door, breathless and needful he made his retreat, palming the door closed behind him.

In the outer chamber his steps faltered, and he reached for the wall, almost clawing at it to draw himself near enough to lean into its support.

_"…one day, perhaps… you will understand…"_

Closing his eyes, he put his head back against the bulkhead, his chest heaving with the voiceless cry he did not know how to release.

**

_Jennifer barely had time to catch her breath at the intensity of her feelings, before he pushed her back against the workbench, his fingernails and armour scraping at the tender, sensitive skin of her inner thighs as he parted her legs, exposed her to his hungry kisses that descended over her belly, across the mound of her, until he could nip sharply at her peaked desire within the soft folds he parted with the touch of too skilled fingers._

_She cried out at the sweet pain of his bites, and then again as first his fingers and then his tongue plundered the sweetness she gave up for him… his mind reached for hers, and she felt him somehow pushing away the gathering tightness of her climax to keep her riding maddeningly on the edges of it, always out of reach._

_"Please… Todd…!" she cried and reached for him with a hand the trembled with her need for release—_

…_He is burning alive, pushes his blood-caked hand against the strengthening beat and throws back his head… new pain, new fire ignites within him – an untamed searing as the poison seeks to drag him to the oblivion of darkness. Not enough… never enough and roaring he tears himself away… leaps back to crouch for a moment, sniffing the air like some wild beast before he runs, seeking the scent… seeking the life, the prey that he scented on the maddening coolness of the wind…_

—_He caught her hand, and coming away from her, his kisses climb the path they had just taken in reverse and he reached to bring her fingers to the ridged length of him. It was only then she realised that in pleasuring her, he had taken the time to free himself from the restrictions of his clothes, but as his hand guided her touch to move over him, all conscious thought was captivated by the girth of his all too alien similitude. She felt the hard ridges of his length with the palm of her hand, the tapering girth with the reaching of her fingers over him, and at the tip of him the strangeness that she could not name, but which excited her in its difference. With the pressure of his mind in hers, wrapping him around her and winding her desire like a spring, she cried for him again, and he came to her then._

_He lifted her hips as he brought her to him, the risen length of him pressing hard and hot against her, slipping between her dewy folds and coating him until growling and throwing back his head, he pressed inside her. If she had tensed around his fingers, then around the swelling girth of him her trembling muscles screamed with the protests of her desire—_

…_He puts back his head and cries his denial to the darkened sky. His body trembles, the sound of his heart deafens him, but he must keep going. First this way, then that, his skin flayed on thorns and brambles. It is meaningless – without understanding – as he cups the thorny vine in a filthy, shaking hand and bends his head to sniff at the blood that smears its leaves – his own – he has come this way before…_

—_His ridges caressed her, played against her as, in one smooth and seemingly endless moment he possessed her entirely, claiming her, pressing his hips to hers, filling her completely._

_She barely had the time to moan at the feeling of being squeezed so tightly around him, of the feel of him so deeply inside, than he was gone and she was left to feel empty and bereft. The sensation of loss was so tangible that it almost drew a sob from her, but just as the emotion threatened to overwhelm her, he claimed her again, more forcefully and swifter than before._

_The sob became a moan, deep and needful as again and again he claimed her; lifted her legs, pushed them back against her belly so that he could reach even deeper within her with each thrust of his hips, until each movement brought the cry of her desire, voiced in sweet anguish as still his mind held her to the cusp of her fulfilment._

The dream broke, and Keller woke, drenched and burning still. Trembling she threw back the covers from her bed and tried to sit up, but her strength failed and she was forced to lie, gasping like a grounded fish, atop her bed until she began to shiver as her body cooled.

Her head ached, pounding as though her heart had changed locations in her body and somehow squeezed her brain with every beat, and the heaviness she felt as she moved did not abate, but at least she managed to sit up.

Tears gathered in her eyes and fell to sting her cracked, fever dried lips, and dizzy with the unfulfilled need still coursing through her, she pressed the heels of both hands against herself as if she could somehow push the need away – hide it within her again.

She needed to rest, not to suffer these fever-filled nocturnal remembrances. Perhaps she _should_ take Doctor Beckett up on his offer of the prescription of a mild sedative – something to help her sleep.

Her steps dragged as she crossed the room to where she had left her earpiece, and her hands shook as she fixed it into place and activated it quickly.

"Doctor Beckett, this is Keller."

"_Are y'all right, Love_?" his voice came back almost immediately.

"Fine, just… having a little trouble sleeping," she lied. "I… I wonder if you'd mind… you offered a sedative a while back, and I was wondering if you'd be able to drop it by my quarters, just… I don't feel like getting dressed and…"

She trailed off – and what?

"_Not a problem, Jennifer_," Carson answered. "_The early shift takes over in an hour. I'll drop it by on my way home, as it were_."

"Thank you, Carson," she said, "I owe you one. Keller out."

Taking out the earpiece she set it down again, and turned to look at the mess she had made of her bed; the sheet all crumpled against the mattress and the cover for her quilt clearly soaked where she had sweated through her fevered dream.

Crossing to the bed she began to pull angrily at the cover, dragging it off, practically tearing it as she pulled it from the comforter, pulling, seemingly endlessly at the soft cotton covered quilt within.

A wave of dizziness gripped her and would not leave, and she slumped forward to try and catch herself on weakened arms. Failing she toppled sideways, to lie still in a rapidly gathering darkness… breathless and afraid.

…_he falls to the side… lies gasping in pain at the sharp branch that has punctured the flesh of his side…_

**

The soft cry woke her in an instant, and Teyla gasped as she opened her eyes, panic gripping her until she set eyes on the little one, curled against her chest.

"Nethaiye," she whispered, running her fingertips over his cheek, down over his shoulder to his chest, finally she unwrapped him from the blanket in which he had been brought to her, to discover the reason for his uncomfortable cry.

She moved away the soiled wrappings, and fetching warm water from the bathroom, gently bathed him, running soft cloths over him, and checking every inch of him for any sign of _anything_ that should not have been.

In her mind there was both no reason, and every reason for her suspicions, for Michael had promised her that he would not harm the child, but she knew also that his very creation had been to further Michael's agenda and in her confused emotion, her trust for Michael's word was fragile at best. Finding nothing, she sat back for a moment, sighing, and blinking back fresh tears of relief.

Nethaiye reached for her, and she caught his tiny hands in hers, kissing the palms of them both, laying his soft hands against her cheek.

"It is all right now," she murmured softly, "I am here."

He kicked his legs, moving around happily in his freedom, but she worried at the child, and began looking around for something in which to wrap him. It was then she noticed that as she had been sleeping, someone had brought a bundle of wrapping cloths, and some baby clothes, and fresh blankets. They had been laid on the table, and close by was another light meal, obviously left for her, and a bottle filled with what looked like milk of some kind.

Reaching to the crib, to pick up one of the blankets there, she lifted Nethaiye to her chest and wrapped the blanket around them both, so that she could investigate what had been left for them.

Everything seemed to have been handmade, with great care and attention to the details of her people. The blankets were woven with the softest wool, the edges of them stitched in patterns that were almost recognisable to her. She ran her fingers over them all, and then picked up the clothes, a simple outfit that would keep Nethaiye warm against the chill of the Hive.

Forgetting her own needs, though her belly growled with hunger, Teyla took the things she would need for Nethaiye's care back to her bed where he could lie comfortably while his inexperienced mother saw to the needs of his dressing and feeding, thankful that such things had been left for her

It did not occur to her that neither of them had been disturbed while they slept.

**

"Doctor Beckett."

Beckett stopped just as his foot crossed the threshold of the infirmary. Part of him wanted to tell the orderly to turn it over to Doctor Lindley, the duty shift's physician, but something else inside of him told him to stay. He turned slowly.

"What is it?" he asked softly. "I'm about to go off duty."

"I know, Doctor, but it's Ronon."

"What about him?" Beckett stepped back toward the orderly and laid a hand on her shoulder, turning her to lead her over toward the Satedan's bed.

"He's waking," she said.

Beckett frowned. "How the hell—we gave him enough sedative to keep an elephant under."

He moved past her quickly to come to Ronon's side, looking at the readings on the monitors at the same time as physically laying his hand against Ronon's wrist to feel the drumming of the man's pulse against his fingertips.

Ronon moaned, and began to fight against the intubation.

"Easy, big guy," Beckett murmured, and nodded to the orderly, who quickly moved to assist, a tray already in her hands to receive the tube that he quickly but carefully removed from Ronon's throat.

"Cold…" Ronon whispered.

"We'll get you another blanket, Son," Beckett said, softly, "Open your eyes for me… that's it…"

"What happened?" Ronon asked, his eyes clearly unfocussed. He blinked several times before he steadied a pained gaze against Beckett's.

"You were shot as we were escaping from the Hive," Beckett said, keeping Ronon from moving too much with a light pressure against his shoulder. "But lie still now… you were badly hurt and have had extensive surgeries. It's important for you to rest."

"The others?" Ronon said, his voice like the rattle of gravel across dry land.

"They're fine," Beckett answered, glancing briefly to the side. Now was not the time for Ronon to find out about Teyla. He'd tell him, but not until he was stronger. "John, Rodney, we're all fine, thanks to you."

"What about—"

"Ronon," Beckett interrupted, looking at him fiercely. "If you don't rest, I'm going to have to sedate you again. There will be plenty of time to tell you everything… when you're rested."

He met Ronon's eyes then, his expression practically begging the big Satedan to let it go; to stop pushing. Ronon tried to move instead, and grunted in pain. Immediately he lay back and stopped trying to sit up, and asked, "How bad?"

Beckett patted his shoulder, finally satisfied that he could release him without Ronon trying to move again.

"We almost lost you, Son," he said sorrowfully. "It was touch and go for a while."

**

Michael paused before stepping through the door into her quarters to take in the scene in front of him. Teyla had dressed in the fresh clothes that he had provided for her, sitting with her legs crossed in front of her, her hair clasped lightly behind the nape of her neck as she bent over the weaving materials she had asked for.

Every now and then she would glance over to the crib to check on the child, sleeping peacefully within – and he could feel how deeply the child slept. It was an image that filled him with a breathlessly poignant, yet unsettled sensation deep in his belly.

"I came to ask you," he started as he stepped within, but found himself unable to continue as she set down her weaving and unfolded to face him standing. Her nervousness reached him first, but behind it was a cynical, wary suspicion. Hurt, he swallowed hard. "That is… I—"

As he moved closer she took a step to the side, putting herself between him and the crib. He stopped.

"So, you truly believe _that_ is why I am here?" he said, caught between disappointment and rising anger.

"Why does it surprise you, Michael?" she countered. "Did you not take me from the others for his sake?"

"The others?" he asked, almost choking on the hope that whispered against the ache inside of him to hear her name them in this manner.

"Atlantis?" she said.

"Your friends," he corrected her, testing. She did not protest and disappointed resentment bubbled to the surface. He stalked closer still and she moved with him, circling to the side, toward the more open space in the chamber; away, he noted, from the child.

"Why must you see me as a threat!" his frustration burst and he roared at her. "Where is the cause for your suspicion? I said I would not hurt him – have I? In all of your examinations, have you found even a scratch upon him?" He glared at her as she shifted her balance again; felt the _fight or flight_ instinct rising in her. When she did not speak, he demanded, "Answer me!"

_-answer- -answer- -answer-_

"You took him from _me_," she accused.

"In order to ensure his safety; his health… I told you—"

"Give me a _reason_ to believe—"

"Believe _what_!" He had not missed the almost imploring tone in her voice, but could not afford to let it sway him now. He caught her by the arms, suddenly, and even as she struggled with him, advanced on her. She backed away, maintaining their distance.

"That you took him for _any_ other reason than to use in your vicious experi—"

He almost shook her as they moved, a hollow pain swirled in his chest, his gut trembled with emotion.

"I took him to keep him safe from the coming Wraith; to keep him from harm at the hands of your _friends_," he sneered the word, unable to banish the bitterness he felt toward them for what they had done, not to him, but to Teyla. Still he went on, "To be sure of his health and the balance of his genes."

"Why would you need to—" She frowned, confusion and anger mingled on her face.

"Because he has my DNA!" he snarled, throwing the truth at her harshly.

**

_"Methinks that lady protesteth too much," Varnerin said, the sarcasm like a blow to her gut. "Michael is not going to harm the boy. You know that. I know that, as does anyone else that's seen the PCRs I have in my office drawer."_

_"What are you talking about?" She frowned in confusion and took half a step away from him, her heels hard against the edge of the tower._

_"Oh come, Teyla," he purred, "why feign innocence any longer. Doctor Keller did the tests herself, prompted by Doctor McKay as I understand."_

_"Tests?"_

_"You're trying my patience, woman," Varnerin growled. "I'm no geneticist, but even I can see there's no doubt that the blood in the placental remains proves the filial match of your son's DNA with that of his father: Michael."_

Painful confusion flooded through her. Had they been right? Michael's DNA? Michael's son? But that could not be true because…

"No!" she pushed against him. "Kanaan _came_ to me and—"

"At my behest," he growled and she backed up as he took a step, pushing her hands against his chest.

"It is not true," she tried again, but the conflict resolved into a single image that had always been in her mind. "I—"

_Her lips parted as he deepened the kiss and she moaned softly at the bittersweet taste of him. Not at all as she remembered. Not the man in her memory._

_Michael._

"Michael, stop!" she gasped as he backed her still further, and she retreated, the denial that had lent her strength, faded, replaced instead with a rush of hurt and anger. "Stop!"

…_yet… I had wanted… _

"Stop," she repeated breathlessly, her voice rising, "stop… STOP!"

Her back collided with the wall, and winded she looked up at him, burning with the thought of having been the unwitting subject of one of his experiments.

…_nothing more…?_

Tears stung eyes, trembling with the potential of every churning emotion. She ceased pushing at him to hold him back, instead released the tension, both emotional and physical and, inside his reach, slapped him so hard that the palm of her hand numbed from it.

He growled in response as he turned his gaze back to hers. "I told you never to strike me again."

Letting out a single betrayed sob, she spat, "You _used_ me!"

**

_-never-_

Every fibre within him screamed denial of her accusation, unable to stand the pain he had caused, but his own anger, his own pain at the same, bit deep and was unwilling to be tamed, even for her. In spite of longing for comfort, for solace, he lashed out, meaning to hurt.

"The end justifies the means," he repeated, sarcastically, something that, several times, they had passed back and forth, like a poisoned apple. He asked of her then, "How does it feel, Teyla?"

Her response… screaming agony through their bond, she lashed out, pushing him away and following him, striking toward him with a rapid punch. He caught the blow against his forearm, raised to meet the strike, then shifted his balance to meet the downward blow she aimed his way in a similar fashion, feeling her anger, feeling her denial and matching the hurt with his own as he snarled at her wordlessly.

_-jealousy that never left… knowing you in the arms of another-_

Advancing he retaliated, aiming to take her down; to end the madness with a blow to the side of her neck, but she pushed his assay wide, the palm of her hand slapping hard against the inside of his elbow.

_-bound by necessity-_

Turning full circle to free himself, he came at her again, but he couldn't hurt her… wouldn't. If he could bring her back to the bulkhead, hold her there until he could calm them both…

**

Tear-blind and breathless she moved on instinct, knowing the strikes, the parries, the defence.

…_used…_

She crossed both hands down, trapping his wrist between them and turned her hand to hold him tightly as she pivoted partly, aiming the blow of her thigh at his middle, but he let one knee bend, and her leg struck harmlessly against his hip.

…_was there ever a thought to my needs – to my desires…_

He turned again quickly, coming at her, his hands moving so rapidly she fought, suddenly, to keep up and block the incoming blows – forced to give ground, until she sensed an opening and struck… hard.

…_why, Michael… why? you knew…you must have…_

He caught her wrist, and pushing hard, drove her back once more against the bulkhead, using his body to pin her in place, breathing hard as he looked into her eyes, his right hand pressed against her chest, the fingers of his left grazing her wrist as he slowly passed the touch across her palm to entwine their fingers.

**

_=You had something you wished to say to me, my Second=_

Malcolm almost leaped to his feet as the Queen entered his quarters unexpectedly as he was trying to rest for the night. He took a deep breath, caught in the moment between sleeping and waking. Behind her the lone handmaiden she had brought in attendance stood with her eyes downcast, and her head lowered, as if it would be the death of her to see him in such a state of undress.

_{my Queen}_

He lowered his head and forced himself to stillness as she approached and circled him, her hand trailing over his shoulders and his chest; let out a long, slow, hissed breath at the scratch of her blade tipped fingers.

_{there was a matter that had come to my attention of which I thought you should be made aware}_

_=his continuing dalliance with my former handmaiden?=_

_{not only that, my Queen}_

He stopped as she came to a halt in front of him and her eyes flared with a flush of anger.

Aloud she said, "I am aware that you set this one to watch her."

_{forgive me, my Queen} {I thought—}_

_=it is nothing= =nothing= =nothing= =nothing= =nothing=_

"She is loyal, my Queen," he said of the handmaiden, whose head twitched up just slightly.

_=dress= =there is something I would have you do=_

With the slightest inclination of his head Malcolm turned to pick up and put on his undershirt, noticing the slight movement of the Queen's hand as she waved her handmaiden forward.

"Assist him," she said, and Malcolm tensed as Jethera came forward, reached for the ties at the front of his shirt. He had no choice but to allow the touch; allow her to act in Isla's stead, but he did not welcome it. He would not insult the Queen's consideration, however, he could not contain the hiss that escaped his lips at the too deft touch of the woman's fingers.

_{what would you have of me, my Queen?}_

He shrugged on the heavy leather coat as Jethera lifted it along his arms, and then raised his chin to allow her to fasten the topmost catch. He did not miss the Queen's amused expression.

"She was body servant to the commander of one of my cruisers," the Queen said, nodding toward the woman. Then she turned, beginning to pace, her steps taking her away from the both of them, adding, "Most… adept, I'm told."

"She sends you into danger," Jethera whispered quick and urgent against his cheek as he leaned down to allow her to straighten his collar, "at her commander's request. She will send you to guard the Hive organism and _he_ will send Hanna to release it."

Jethera stepped away as he straightened, frowning as he looked into her eyes.

_{you take great risk in coming to me like this, openly, before the Queen}_

She shook her head briefly and then while the Queens back was still turned, jerked her head back to indicate the Queen, her expression pained, her meaning clear.

Stilling himself for a moment, Malcolm did what he had not for many long years, dissolving reality around him as he entered the woman's mind, at the same time bringing her hands to the next of the catches on his leather coat.

_Jethera gasped._

_"Let me go!" she said, afraid._

_"I will not harm you, but we must speak quickly, I will not keep her out for long," he said with quiet urgency. "What brings you to act against the Queen to whom you claimed such loyalty not several hours ago?"_

_"She is deceived," Jethera implored him. "It is for her safety I act. I may not know much of the process involved in the creation of a Hive ship, but I do know that that organism will spread among us indiscriminately without containment. It will not care for Human, Wraith, Commander or—"_

_"Queen," he confirmed. "You are wise beyond your years, Jethera. How came you by this information about his scheme?"_

_"I was in attendance on the Queen when he came to her to make the suggestion," she said. "He and several others will patrol with the Darts as you have suggested, they will be safe from this."_

_"And Merihanna?"_

_"She is too stupid to know what it is she does." Jethera said bitterly._

Jethera gasped and pulled away from his grasp, and the Queen turned to him with an amused frown.

"Rough-handling my handmaiden, Second?" she said.

Before he could answer, Jethera said, "No, My Queen, he is most agreeable. But his armour is not. I caught my finger against the sharpness of one of the fastenings, see?"

She held out her hand, to show the run of blood from a cut on the side of her finger. Malcolm frowned, until he saw the bright glint of metal in her other hand, one of the Queen's finger guards, from her un-dressed hand, no doubt. He gave Jethera the slightest of nods.

"Leave us," the Queen ordered her handmaiden, somewhat with distaste. "Go see to your injury."

_{wait until morning, just as she wakes. whisper to her of her Commander's betrayal with his concubine while the Hive burned}_

He risked sending Jethera a parting instruction, neither knowing, or particularly caring whether she would comply.

"Tell me something, Second," the Queen purred, coming to him again and running her fingers down the front of his leather clad chest to reach for the next catch, fastening it for him.

_=why have you never come to me… never even with overtures of… intimacy=_

_{it is not my place, my Queen}_

_=you could challenge for it=_

"The Hive would be better served by our harmony," he said cautiously.

She chuckled. Evidently he had passed some kind of test, but her nearness was maddening. His every breath infecting him with a greater animalistic response to the pheromones she wound around him. His fingers flexed, just out of her line of sight, and it took every fibre of his being to keep from moving – acting.

Memory stirred…

_::why do you fight yourself?:: ::why fight?:: ::why fight?:: ::why fight?:: ::you must know why I have summoned you:: ::summoned you:: ::summoned you:: ::why you are… chosen:: ::chosen:: ::chosen:: ::chosen:: ::chosen::_

…The Elder Queen's mental touch blew the thought away like smoke on a rising wind.

_=you are right= =you are right= =you are right=_

_{you are wise, my Queen}_

"I am curious," she said.

"My Queen?" he answered her in kind.

"My scientist," she said, "he left rather suddenly, with much of his work uncompleted, and took with him one of my handmaidens. Why?"

He shook his head. He had ideas, possibilities that he had gleaned from the information he had managed to tear from the mind of the Renegade, but he would not share them. Not yet… it would do her little good to have the knowledge of them and it was information better given to his Matron, than to this lowly Queen.

"I do not know, my Queen."

"A pity," she said, "His strength… his knowledge… held such value to us."

_{there was something you wished for me to do?}_

The reminder was gentle enough, but he needed to be out of the Queen's maddening presence.

**

Beckett frowned as he waved his hand in front of the door chime for a third time with no answer. He was just considering contacting Rodney and asking him to come down and open the door, when it opened, and Jennifer stood in front of him partly dressed and looking more than a little exhausted.

"Jennifer?" he reached to catch her as she stumbled, and without waiting for an invitation, wrapped his arm around her shoulders and led her to sit on the side of her unmade bed.

"I was trying to change the covers," she gestured helplessly at the balled up sheet, and half removed quilt cover.

"I can do that," he told her, gently reaching to feel the glands at the side of her neck, then catching her hand to count out her racing pulse. "You just stay right where y'are, and rest."

Jennifer snorted.

"Chance would be a fine thing," she said.

"It's happening again?" he asked softly, "The dreams, I mean."

"It never stopped, Carson," she said, and sighed tearfully. He gave her a sympathetic look and briefly cupped the side of her face in one of his hands.

"Jennifer," he began, "Perhaps you really ought to see someone… talk to someone."

"I'm talking to you, aren't I?" she said, leaning into the kindness of his touch.

"That's no what I mean," he shook his head, "I mean—"

"I won't talk to Varnerin," she snapped, suddenly pulling away from him and getting up to pace to the chair and throw herself into it. Her legs curled up under her. "Not after what he did to Lorne. Not after the way he treated Teyla."

Beckett sighed.

"Aye," he said, "I suppose so. I guess you're stuck with me then."

Jennifer chuckled softly and said, "I wouldn't call it _stuck_ with, Carson."

He gave her a smile, and then, gathering fresh sheets and a fresh quilt cover from her closet, began to make her bed.

"So these dreams," he asked quietly, "They're always the same?"

Keller sighed, and he saw her look all around the room before answering, "Same thing that happened, just… in different ways." She sighed again, then gave a little humourless laugh as she added, "Guess I'm just feeling… guilty, I s'pose… for doing what I did."

The bed made, Carson turned to sit on top of it and look at her as he asked softly, "What do you dream, Jennifer?"

"I'm with him. Wanton and complicit… and… even when I wake up I can…" she pulled back into the chair, wrapping her arms around her. He didn't move or interrupt. Going on she whispered, "…I can feel him… as if we're still together… still…"

He watched as she swallowed hard, her eyes glazing.

"He's still inside me, Carson… somehow, I… I don't know, I—"

"Jennifer, listen," he moved slowly, to perch on the table beside the chair and take her hand in his. She was cold. "He's a Wraith. He messed with your head. You… have nothing to feel guilty for. The things you're experiencing are very clearly symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress, and if you weren't so exhausted, you'd see that."

She looked up at him then, trusting, with hope in her eyes.

"Will they ever stop?" she asked.

"Aye, they will, come on." He tugged on her hand, "Let me tuck you all up, I'll get you some water, you can take some of this medicine. Sleep dreamlessly."

"Will you… I mean… would you…?" she asked.

"Stay?" he said.

"Just until I'm asleep," she nodded.

"Of course I will," he told her softly, handing her the glass of water and two of the tablets. "You'll be asleep in no time."

**

Her breath came in snatches, startled. She trembled with the urgent aching that subsumed the whole of her as he held her in place, their eyes locked – his burning.

She gasped, pushing against his unyielding strength, only succeeding in bringing them closer and, suddenly overheated, she felt her skin slicken with perspiration that ran between her breasts, beside his hand. Another gasp, high and desperate escaped her as the rest of her teetered on the edge of a moment so fragile, yet so sharp it cut her to the quick and she felt herself bleed.

Equilibrium shattered…

Her free hand, her fingers, found his hair; wound into its short strands and dragged him closer still until his mouth met hers – lips sparring briefly in the desperation of the kiss.

She felt him tense, but momentary, fleeing, before his tongue pressed between her lips, filling her mouth with the sweet-spice taste of him and she gave voice to the flood she made of herself as she opened to him, becoming nothing but sensation.

**

Instinct grasped his senses as he tore away from the kiss, spinning her in his arms until he could wrap her in himself, her back to his chest, nipping lightly at her cheek and at the side of her neck. His hands ran the length of her arms, her body burning perceptibly against the possessive touch of his fingers over the swell of her breasts, the flat of her belly, down toward the heat at her centre.

She moaned and pushed her head back against his shoulder, turning it until her temple nuzzled against his chin and her desperate breath flew like wings over his throat. He rumbled as she nipped at him and her fumbling hands reached behind her to tug at the leather of his coat.

"Michael!"

The rumble became a growl as she called for him and turned again in his arms, pushing him away only far enough to strip away the restrictive body armour the coat provided, and to tug on the softness of his shirt until she could slip her hands beneath to find his skin.

The spiralling ache became a fire at her touch and centred in his sex and he pressed against her, reaching to pull on her hair until she gave the vulnerability of her neck to the sharpness of his teeth, murmuring for her between each shuddering breath.

**

Her fingers trembled against his body, mapping him by touch not sight, her head had fallen back, and she cried out as his kisses and nips against her skin drove her toward a greater need still, beautifully painful.

Primal desire possessed her, and she responded, pressing the heel of her hand against the tightness in the leather of his pants, needing more and thrusting the sensitive pads of her fingers over the length of him; fumbling to free him… lost in the feeling of _his_ touch against her sensitive inner thigh.

_-Teyla!-_

His mind in hers was an echo of the sensations, the feelings, and the savage emotions that ravaged her. Shared and sharing, she could not tell where she ended and he began, save for the terrible need burning through everything she was.

He lifted her, and she wrapped herself around him as his fingertips found her, glided over her wetness to tease until breathless she pulled him closer still, another needful moan biting into his consuming kiss.

Freed, the hard, risen length of him found her, moved over her to hold one glorious, timeless moment before their passion subsumed them both, and joined as a single voice he surged to fill her, and she sheathed him perfectly.

**

He could not hold the cry, and pulling back, thrust deeply into her again, feeling her arms tighten around his shoulders, her heels pull him harder still against her body. Matching the rhythm of her need to the pulse of his possession, the spiral of sensation tightened around them both until she matched his needful gasps – a glorious friction between them.

He was so lost in her that the trembling in his arms, that supported the two of them against the wall, did not register until they faltered, and the two of them tumbled, gracelessly, to the floor.

She pushed against him until he lay back and then straddled him, sinking onto him again, her hands against his chest as she raised herself and thrust back to take him deeply, rocking against him.

She cried out and her head fell back, spilling her hair over his fingers as he reached to support her. The beauty of it drew a growling hunger deeper still inside of him, and he grasped her shirt, pulling until he freed her from it; until he could trail touches over her shoulders, brush the light scar on her chest until, caressing the globes of her breasts, teasing her nipples between questing fingers became his only thought amid maddening sensation.

…_Michael…_

He reached for her then, to draw her down to meet the passion of the kiss, taking her mouth for his own, nipping at her swollen lips, drinking deep of her needs; his mind winding deeper still with hers.

**

Teyla moaned as Michael caught her hips, eased her away and wordlessly moved to pick her up, carry her the few short steps towards the bed. She reached for him as he lay her down and he came to her, lifting her hips as he joined with her again, taking her deeply, so deeply that she cried out from the overwhelming sensation of him inside her.

She tugged on his shirt, pulling it over his head, and then pushed up on her elbows until she could take his nipple between her teeth, bite until he cried out and thrust hard against her. She threw back her head and cried out, running her fingernails down his back, rising to meet the deep consuming thrusts that made her his. She squeezed around him and he snarled, pleasure washing over her anew from both sensation and the rush of his feelings within her mind.

Their shared passion pulsed through her, until she trembled with each moment, a heat and light growing within her so intense it was consuming all that she was; the tight spiral they had woven around each other stretched to be the fragile breaker that barely held back the tide.

She lay back, drawing him closer, possessing him and being possessed by him.

"Yes," she whispered breathily, and then cried out as he answered her desire, taking her harder and more consuming still until the brightness she so desperately sought burst over her. He shattered with her and she felt the waves of him washing deep within, as their mutual ecstasy broke over them, and drowning, both breathless, he sank onto her, and she into the security of his arms.


	3. Act 3

**Stargate Atlantis **

**Apostasy**

To Change a Heart, Understand It

**Act 3**

Moving around under cover of night was much easier in the settlement than she had thought it would be. Dressed in the dark coloured clothing that had belonged to one of the peasant inhabitants of the village she managed to stay virtually invisible as she moved from the shadow of one building to the next.

The patrol was admittedly heavier than it would have been aboard the Hive ship, but still relatively light and why wouldn't it be? The villagers were all safely locked away, the other worshippers slumbering peacefully in whatever corners they had managed to secure for themselves – undignified all. She was better than that, and would prove it. He had promised.

Merihanna stopped at the edge of a small building almost opposite the central hall where she knew the item, which he wished for her to retrieve for him, lay. The shadows around the hall were sparse, as the Wraith had laid glowing globes in the space before it. If she wished to approach unseen she would have to circle around and come at the building from behind, and that would take time – time she did not wish to waste. She stood for a moment watching the patrol patterns of the drones and was pleasantly surprised to discover that the pattern left a narrow, but open, window when none of them had their eyes turned to the space before the building. If she were fast enough, she could make the doorway, and safety, before the first of them turned back. It didn't occur to her that it was odd that this should be so.

If she had learned one thing through her relationship with the Commander it was timing. Waiting until the moment the last of the drones had turned away she picked up the skirts she wore and pumped her legs as hard as she could to carry her across the lighted causeway and into the sheltering dark before the hall door. She did not stop, but lifted the latch and slipped within to the greater darkness.

For a moment she leaned against the door, breathing hard, excitement mounted in her like the touch of a hand, stroking every sense and nerve until she trembled with it as she looked across the cavernous dark to the single lighted space before her.

It spilled from the small stasis container, an eerie blue-green light generated by the action of the field itself as the edges of it collided with the space without, moving at an ordinary chronological march; a strangely beautiful phenomenon that had been explained to her once – she could not remember when, or why. The light would fade when she deactivated the field, and she would know then that it was safe to reach inside the container and unstopper the vial inside.

She crossed the room in silence, aware only of the quiet hiss of the hem of her dress brushing against the dust of the floor, like parchment over sand, the whisper of her terrible secret.

The blue-green illumination lent the skin of her fingers a dead look as she reached for the control on the side of the small, casket-like chamber, and she watched in fascinated horror as the tremor began. At first she thought it was the excitement of the forbidden that was undeniably coursing through her, but in the split second before the voice, projected out of the darkness, sounded and the muscles in her forearm and bicep cramped to a trembling halt, the excitement became a consuming fear.

_{hold, girl} {hold} {hold} {hold} {hold} {hold}_

"Wait, I—" she stammered as the pressure inside her mind increased and almost every muscle in her body responded to lock in place. Her eyes moved to track the barely perceptible motion in the darkness. He began to spiral toward her.

"It begins slowly," he hissed, "as a creeping, gnawing fatigue that knows no respite."

"W-w-what are you… doing to me?" she whispered fearfully as her mind began to blur, and a deep exhaustion spread from deep inside her. "_How_?"

_{age and imperfection, impurity, has weakened us} {us} {us} {us} {us} {but we are not… all… dead…} {all… dead} {all… dead} {all… dead} {not yet} {yet} {yet} {yet} {yet}_

"Let me _go_," she demanded, but with little conviction as the desperation clearly infected her voice. She tried to move again, every muscle straining against his compulsion to be still.

"Your body will fight," he continued, pausing behind her, closer now, "but in the end there is nothing that can be done. The enzyme from the organism that has multiplied within your body will be released and your tissue, everything you are, will cease to be."

"What are you talking about?" she said, desperation becoming a cold fear that settled inside of her belly to grow with each of his words. "He said—"

_{you think that you can trust his word} {his word} {his word} {his word} {did he not promise you this Hive?} {Hive} {Hive} {Hive} {Hive} {when all the time he was with others} {others} {others} {others} {others}_

"You're lying, you—"

Fear suddenly became an aching warmth that spread through her, alien and strange, yet as familiar as her own deep arousal. It came from low in her belly, trickled to leaden her legs and plant the sharp spike of needful pain between her legs. Then the images, the memories began…

_"But I am the Queen's servant first and—"_

_"And she has given me leave to seek my pleasure with you," he told her, "and you will be the greater for it."_

_He reached for her, and uncertain still, she stepped back. "No, My Lord Commander, I—"_

_"Trust me, Merihanna," his smile was feral, "I could take you where you stand… but that is not what I seek."_

_{you… you were complicit} {complicit} {complicit} {complicit} {complicit}_

She was outside of herself, suddenly, the darkened room was still around her but the light of the stasis chamber had been replaced by the scene before her – where she watched herself, weak and trembling in front of the Commander as he had summoned her to him – at her side, the Hive Second stood watching impassively, his arms folded across his chest.

_{consenting} {consenting} {consenting} {consenting} {consenting} {and he revelled in this new perverse pleasure it afforded him to know…} {…to know…} {…to know…} {…to know…} {…to know…} {…that you have been the architect of your own… painful… ecstasies…} {…painful… ecstasies…} {ecstasies} {ecstasies} {ecstasies}_

"He never hurt me!" she spat hurriedly, the lie a bitter taste in her mouth. "And I am his only—"

She gasped as he forced the memories on her again and she spiralled into the scene in front of her to relive every detail…

_Her cry became lost in his snarling; her breathlessness unheeded as he pounded into her, still from behind, still with the rough abandon of his unsated frustration. Her thighs ached, and her shoulders screamed in protest as he lay his weight on her, sinking deeper still. She felt him open inside of her as the rhythm of his possession changed, and clutched at the bed frame with splintering fingernails as the near agony of it triggered her body into a deep, dark climax that pulsed around him, until he too released, a flood inside of her, as scalding as his anger._

…felt anew the rending slice of the barbs within her, the raking, clawing possession of her and gave voice to the shuddering culmination, spearing her body with the fulfilment of the arousal; became filthy with it.

_{the only release that ever comes for you, comes as pain} {pain} {pain} {pain} {pain} {and as for being his only… you… deceive yourself…} {deceive yourself} {deceive yourself} {deceive yourself}_

"No. Don't, I—"

The sickening pull toward memories not hers began again and she saw herself, as he, labouring over the backs and faces of a dozen other worshippers she knew – felt his desire building; the flood of near ecstasy as she felt the spreading of his glans, the increase of sensation from his perception and then…

_"Todd?"_

_She turned and instantly backed away, the arousal in her becoming the feral stalking of a hunter nearing its prey, before she caught her up, the one that she, herself, had sent him to find… took her down and—_

"Please! Enough!" she cried, managing to turn her head enough to face the side on which the Hive Second stood. "Enough!"

The frozen scene around her dissolved and the space beside her became empty. His voice came from close in front of her, on the other side of the narrow pedestal on which the stasis chamber stood.

"You did this… and for why? For what?" damned her mockingly. "The false promise of a power that was not his to give…"

"How did you—?" The question came out in a rush, and she fought to turn her head and face him once more, fought until he released her enough that she could move. She pulled back her hand, still outstretched between them. Her near terror drove her to deny him. "You put those lies in my head; made me feel those things!"

He shrugged, a pale spectre against the dark around them.

"Perhaps," he admitted as if it were of no consequence to him, "but _you_ will never know for certain if I did… or did not."

_{did not} {did not} {did not} _

A roiling sickness assaulted her, her belly churned with it, and now that she could move, she backed away, as he began to come around the pedestal.

"Stay away from me," she sobbed breathlessly as her eyes burned with angry, frightened tears. "I did only what he told me to… as a worshipper must!"

He flew at her then, caught the fabric of her borrowed dress in his claws as he pulled her closer, lifted her from the floor.

"You are so _blinded_ by ambition," he snarled, putting his face right beside hers as he spun her in his arms, to hold her, struggling as she was, securely against him, "that you do not even know what you have _done_!"

"Let me go," she whimpered, "Don't touch me. Who _are_ you? _What_… are you?"

The pressure in her mind increased again, frighteningly so, until her whole body trembled from the aching of it, and she saw.

**

_The ring of metal against metal was almost melodic in the silence and the weight of the blade in his hand a comfort. The male lifted his head and rose to his full height, equitable with Malcolm's own._

_"You are getting slow, Old One," he said, "growing weak."_

_Though the words were harsh, challenging, the tone was one of respect. He ran his eyes over the ancient Wraith male, likely his sire, but that did not matter, not among the first of them, whose very nature had been altered by the enemy before their flight to freedom._

_His lizard-like, butterfly features were withered; his eyes sunken and rimmed red, and the white brilliance of his hair had dulled._

_"So it has come at last," the Old One hissed, his voice barely audible except in the mind of those around him. "Good. Let us begin… and take our people forward…"_

Malcolm blinked, and pushed harder, barely caring that he could bring her to madness with all he gave her in answer. Her struggles became more frantic, her cries more desperate until she begged him, weeping as though she could catch no breath.

"Stop… please… Lord, no more!"

Deliberately he brought his head to the crook of her neck and bit hard, drawing blood, and she cried out again… beating at the arm with which he held her, ineffectual and pathetic.

"No," she wept. "Don't, please…"

As the door opened he set her down and pushed her in that direction and spat to the side of himself to clear his mouth of the foul taste of her. He watched as she stumbled a few steps, and then tumbled to a ragged, boneless heap. He fixed the incoming drones with a ruthless stare and ordered aloud, explaining so that she would hear.

"Take her to the far edge of the field. No doubt she will try to return, but I doubt, given the state of her, that she will make it very far, and she will be found when the Darts return." He shifted his gaze then to her and added, "Explain to _him_ why you have failed."

As the drones' hands closed on her arms, she screamed, wordlessly at first, but as they neared the door she found the capacity for speech once more and her cries became words.

"Mercy! Please, I beg of you, mercy!"

"Hold!" he instructed sharply.

Slowly he crossed the room toward her, silently instructing the drones to release her. She fell at his feet, clasping the leather of his pants as she did; a supplicant gesture. Slowly he lowered himself to his knees and closed his hands around her arms, in support, as she climbed her way upward over his body. He allowed her increasingly fervent touches over his neck and shoulders… even onto his face.

"Mercy… yes, Lord… mercy, please," she whispered with each touch, as she took his face between her hands and cradled him there for a moment, her cheek to his, her whispers in his ear. He wound his arms around her back, moved one upward into the spill of her hair.

"Oh…" He sighed the word, letting it form as a long, slow breath against the woman's hair. "Merihanna…"

"Lord…" her hand trembled, fumbling at the fastener beneath his throat.

"You must understand," he continued, just as softly, letting the strands of her hair fall through his fingers as he spoke.

"I have done wrong," she murmured, letting the words brush her lips against his cheek. "I was foolish, I know."

"But do you?" he asked softly, pulling back enough to whisper the words against her cheek.

"Yes," she breathed urgently, and turning her head she trailed the word-kisses over his lower lip. "Please, Lord, I seek only forgiveness – your mer—"

His hand tightened suddenly in her hair, and he pulled her head away from his. His eyes flashed with cold fury, as he hissed, "Because of your arrogant diversion of its Commander, the Queen's Hive is lost and her strength scattered. You are not some randomly culled, simpering Human. You were _born_ to this Hive and you… your actions were in part responsible for the loss of its strength – its Honour and the Honour if its commanders."

"I did not—"

"_If_ you understand," he went on, pulling back her head still further, until she cried with the pain of it, and clutched at his chest, "then you know that you are _contemptible_, and you understand, too, that there can _be_ no forgiveness… no _mercy_ for one such as you."

"No, plea—"

"But I. Will. _Not_. Sully my honour further," he let go of her and rose to his feet, prizing her away as she clung to him. "I will not be the one to grant you clemency or otherwise… and you _know_ what mercy you will receive at _his_ hands."

He turned his back then, deafening his ears to her screams and cries as the drones carried her away, following his orders.

Only when he could not hear her wailing any more did he move again, taking up the sounds of distress himself, and howling with a pain he could not express otherwise, he almost literally took the room apart until nothing remained but the single pedestal at the centre of the wreckage, illuminated by iciness of the blue-green stasis field.

**

The characters and images on the screen of the tablet blurred together to form a mass of light that burrowed into his head like some alien implement of torture. No matter which way he looked at it, no matter how much he tried to think like Todd he was still left with entirely too many possibilities on the end of each string of information.

He sighed, and in disgust pushed the tablet away and picked up his coffee, now cold, but he didn't care.

"Still trying to refute my irrefutable logic, I see," McKay muttered as he joined him.

"Give it up, McKay," he said. "Not in the mood."

"Look—" McKay started.

"And not in the mood for a pep talk either," he added, cutting the other man off. "In fact the only thing I'm in the mood for right now is kicking ass. So unless you're volunteering for that—"

McKay held up his hand and said, "Okay, okay, I get the hint. We can… talk about something else."

"Like?" Sheppard growled moodily, and looked into the bottom of his coffee cup.

"I don't know. What do you _want_ to talk about?" Sheppard shrugged hoping it would shut the scientist up, but McKay went on, "All right then, um… Woolsey. How about Woolsey?"

Sheppard frowned. "What _about_ Woolsey?" he asked.

"Well, just…" McKay leaned closer across the table and asked, "Don't you think he's… lately, I mean, don't you think he's been acting a little—"

"McKay, if you've got nothing better to do than to speculate about the love life of Atlantis personnel," Sheppard interrupted, starting to get up. "Please… go do it some place else. I—"

"No, seriously, Sheppard," McKay pressed.

"McKay," Sheppard huffed. "I really don't want to hear it."

"All right then," McKay had evidently taken offence at not being listened to and stood up, irritation screaming from his body language as well as the tone in his voice. "Try this for size, because frankly, your obsession with Todd is just a little too disturbing."

"He was there, McKay," Sheppard said and started walking away, knowing what McKay was going to say even before the words came out of his mouth. "He's the one responsible."

"How," McKay grabbed his arm, surprisingly pulling him to a halt and half turning him round in the first place. "How do you know it was him? It could have been _any_ of the Wraith on that Hive. What makes you so sure it was Todd?"

"Because," Sheppard said tiredly.

"Because?"

"Because he's the only one we've seen with that… that… super weapon, the… the… cascade beam," Sheppard said, pointing at McKay. "He used it when he was fighting Michael's cruiser back when we first tried to rescue… Teyla."

"And his own ship was destroyed when Michael turned it back on him," McKay said, "as if I need to remind you that."

"Well, he had it once, there's no reason he couldn't install it in another Hive," he argued.

"If that's the case, and we _know_ he's been working with that Queen, whose Hive he destroyed, why not just… install it there?" McKay asked.

"Because… he wanted to keep it to himself," he said, "keep his advantage, his independence – look, what _is_ this – some kind of twisted—?"

"Well, you said it," McKay pressed. "Have you listened to yourself lately? Seen yourself, you—"

Before Sheppard could stop himself, he reached out and grabbed McKay by the front of his jacket, hauled him closer angrily.

"Look, John," McKay said hurriedly, "All I'm saying is—"

"Yeah, well, don't!" Sheppard snarled. "We've lost too many people, McKay. I should have been faster; should have been able to save Teyla, and—"

"We _all_ miss her, Sheppard, you don't have a monopoly on that, but… relentlessly and uselessly trying to pursue phantoms you think are responsible because you feel guilty over not… flying in there like the Light Brigade to save her isn't going to change anything."

"It'll change the way I feel," Sheppard let go of McKay so fast the scientist stumbled. "It'll bring the one responsible to justice and—"

"Will it though?" McKay asked softly. "Is there a way to—?"

"_Colonel Sheppard, please report to the infirmary immediately._"

Carson's voice, sounding over the citywide comm. sounded harassed and more than a little afraid.

"On my way, Doc," Sheppard said after keying his mic and turning, quickly headed for the door. He knew McKay was behind him, and paused enough for the man to catch up to him.

"Look, McKay," he said quietly, "I do appreciate the effort, okay?"

"Okay," McKay said softly.

"But right now," he sighed, "I need to be able to… do this my own way."

**

"Get your hands offa me!" Ronon snarled, pushing at the orderly at his side, contorting his face in an expression, a rage of denial at the news. "Don't you touch me!"

"Easy, Son," Carson arrived nearby, waving the orderly away. "It's all right, Ben, just go. Wait in my office."

The orderly, a frightened looking young man nodded and backed up, and moved away, and Ronon turned his shattered gaze Carson's way, everything he was just knotted inside.

"You tell me," he said, and his voice cracked mid-word. "Tell me it's not true!"

"I can't do that," Carson said softly, "I really am very sorry, Ronon."

"Dead?" All the air came out of him in a rush, and he felt like he was suffocating. All he could see was her face, all he could smell was the floral scent of whatever soap it was she used. "Gone…? How?"

"I really don't think—"

"You _tell_ me," Ronon growled, and in spite of the pain it caused, a burning lance through his middle, he started trying to get up. "Or so help me—"

"Ronon," Sheppard's voice sounded from the doorway, strongly at first but dissolving into a tone of bewilderment. "Take it easy, buddy. What's going on?"

The question was obviously aimed at Beckett and beside him the doctor sighed softly.

"I'm sorry, Colonel," the doctor said quietly. "He's just found out about Teyla."

An epiphany of fury exploded inside him at the sound of Teyla's name from Beckett's lips. How dare he sully her name with the same voice, the same mind that dreamed up twisted science to make a thing of heartless evil into some _twisted_ parody of a man? But for that, she would still be here… right there with them, holding his hand when he woke, her filial concern washing over him like a cooling balm.

"Don't you speak her name! Don't you _dare_ speak her name!" The words burst from him like a gunshot and he pointed accusatorily at Beckett. "You did this – with your twisted experiments; your… you—How could you even _think_ you could change what he was. What _any _of them are!"

Beckett looked down and sighed, and some part of Ronon soared with greater agony that he didn't try to deny it.

"Ronon, this isn't the time," Sheppard said instead, speaking slowly, enunciating each word. "You need to rest; get your strength back."

"Just…" Ronon fell back against the pillows, fixing Sheppard with an agonised plea, "tell me what happened?"

"She never made it out, buddy," Sheppard said, and Ronon saw his eyes fill with tears as his soft voice continued in a broken monotone, "she got stuck in the Hive and she never made it out before it blew."

"I really am very sorry for your loss, Ronon," Beckett said, soft and sorrowful, still looking at the floor. "I know what Teyla meant to you."

Ronon growled, still hating that he spoke her name… unwilling to forgive. Nothing he'd said changed because of the way she died… it was still because of Michael and that made it Beckett's fault.

"Hey!" Sheppard's voice rang out across the infirmary. "If you wanna blame anyone, blame me! I left her there… _I_ didn't get her out."

"No… John," Beckett said with a sigh, "It's all right, lad. You don't need to defend me by blaming yourself."

"I'm not, I—"

Beckett cut Sheppard off.

"Yes, y'are and you've no need. It _wasn't_ your fault." Then, speaking to Ronon, added, "I understand you're angry, son. I accept that. I'll sign your care over to Doctor Westbourne. He's a fine doctor. You'll have no trouble wi' him."

Ronon said nothing. He couldn't, barely even heard Beckett excuse himself, or his footsteps moving away… just stared at the ceiling, thinking of Teyla and all that her loss meant – not just to him, but to all of them.

"You know," Sheppard broke in on his thoughts. "You really shouldn't blame Carson. He's a good man. He—"

"—made Michael," Ronon snarled, interrupting, his nostrils flaring in hate at the thought of the Wraith perversion that Michael was.

"Yeah, and so did you," Sheppard accused softly. He snapped his gaze round to meet Sheppard's, already raising his hand ready to punch him. Sheppard stopped him when he didn't move away. "Go ahead. Give it your best shot - doesn't change the fact that I'm right. You, me… even Teyla, we all helped in the creation of Michael, in making him what he is… or was – if he was on that Hive then he's gone too - finally."

"It's _not_ worth the—"

"I'm not saying it makes Teyla's death any better, any easier… just…" Sheppard took a shuddering breath. "…that we gotta find the one responsible, and—"

Sheppard's words washed over him, drawing out his sorrow, his anguish and grief until he couldn't hold them inside and they hiccupped from his body in great, rasping breathless sobs that filled him with a physical pain from his wound that was welcome against the fathomless emotional agony. Without a thought as Sheppard reached for him, Ronon allowed himself to be pulled into an embrace and clung there tightly… not knowing what else to do.

**

He felt her surface from unconsciousness even before he felt the angry touch of the Wraith Queen's mind seeking his. Michael paid no heed, and moved to adjust the flow of one of the tubes running to and from her body, between where she was restrained and the generative tanks.

"I would advise against any sudden movements at this time," Michael told her without even looking up from what he was doing. "We're approaching a very delicate stage in the process, and I would hate to cause you undue pain."

"You disgust me," she spat.

"I wouldn't expect anything less," he answered mildly, tilting his head as he watched the flow along the tubes, into the chamber where the genetic materials were met and mingled with his primary serum. "Your kind have always despised the notion of change; evolution – unless it was by your sanction."

"Evolution?" she laughed, a harsh and mocking sound. "Look at you – half-breed throwback, not even a _fraction_ the majesty that was once yours."

She nodded then to his experiments, unable to point as he knew was her instinct. Her voice, snarling sarcasm continued harshly when he did not rise to the insult, rather expected it.

"Playing _Primogenitor_ – espousing _evolution _when all the time regressing to the bestial nature of Prey and rutting like a common Human," she accused. Michael growled softly, sending warnings along the contact she sought with him, sensing where she was taking her taunting. She didn't heed his unspoken interdiction and jeered, "The stench of her corruption is _all_ over you."

It was like some macabre dance, and he barely registered the movement as he flew across the terminal between them, his fingers settling around the long needled syringe before his feet touched the ground and his free hand reached for her throat. He caught himself then, needle poised at the side of her neck; her head forced back. He didn't _need_ her alive. The Hive could support her bodily functions well enough for his purposes. Yet he knew that this was her intent. To seek release through death, and the angry, festering kernel inside him would not consent to give it.

Regaining his self control and rumbling in the back of his throat he said, "You will not speak of her again."

_-or even death will be no release for the agony I shall visit upon you- -upon you- -upon you- -upon you- -upon you- -for I know the workings of every atom, of every cell within your miserable existence- -miserable existence- -miserable existence- -existence- -existence- -and I can make you tear yourself apart even as your body fights for life- -fights for life- -fights for life- -life- -life- -life-_

The mental push of each threat he made was accompanied by an emotional image of his promises to her, and they were no idle threats. With a breath, slowly, he released her head from the vice-like grasp in which he held it, and moved away, as measured as his attack had been sudden.

"Now," he said softly as he set down the syringe. "Let us… continue with our work."

**

Malcolm stood silent, watching, listening to the whispers – tentative and forming – coming from the small transport ship that had been sealed, inside which, under the compulsion of the Queen, one of the worshippers had released the Hive organism.

He folded his arms across his chest, tilting his head as he did, aware of the approach of the Commander, as a clear presence amid the uncertainty of the Hive's developing consciousness.

"One has emerged as the dominant consciousness?" the Commander asked as he came to a halt beside Malcolm.

Malcolm nodded. "It _has_ been several hours," he said.

"Male or female?"

Malcolm turned his head then, his irritation rising, but he fought to keep it in check. Regarding the Commander coolly he said, "You are as capable as I of reaching the developing consciousness. Be my guest."

He turned and stepped away slightly, allowing the Commander pride of place before the quarantine container the transport ship had become. He saw the Commander stiffen, but the other Wraith moved to take that place none the less and after a moment, stepped forward to rest his fingertips on the outer surface of the hull.

"It… was well done," the Commander rumbled after a moment, without turning. Malcolm caught the sense of the bitter praise sent his way, an emotional and sensory impression of the Queen's former handmaiden.

"Your carelessness," Malcolm replied softly, but with no less acid in his tone, "yet again, proved your downfall and nearly the downfall of another beneath your command."

"And yet you still have not called me out," the Commander mocked.

"To what end?" Malcolm spat, derision in every syllable.

"Perhaps because you know you would not succeed. The Hive still suppo—"

"Hive?" Malcolm burst. "You _destroyed_ your Hive. You refused to hear the advice of the one in whom rests the safety of the souls aboard. I told you—"

The Commander swung around to face him, eyes flashing in anger.

"The Second should support his Commander in all things," the Commander snarled, "and you were _never_ my choice."

"Because you could not control me, as you did the weakling under you before I came to join our Queen," Malcolm growled, taking a step closer, his voice growing stronger and more dangerous with each word. "Oh, but she too you would destroy. What kind of traitor _are_ you!?"

The Commander growled, and his hand flew to the knife at his belt.

"Do not!" Malcolm's voice rang out, a shot in the morning air, and growling, he pressed his will hard into the Commander's mind.

_{do not!} {do not!} {do not!} {do not!}_

"Your only salvation is that, as yet, your treachery remains beneath the notice of the Queen… but not so everyone. Not so those close to her and _they_ remain under _my_ protection." Malcolm snarled as he felt the Commander fighting back against his mental pressure. "Be warned, for the last time, _Commander_, I _will_ see you called to answer for all that you have done – and failed to do."

Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving the Commander gasping and impotent, slumped against the side of the transport ship.

**

The water was cooling against his wrists and face, and soothed the ache behind his eyes brought on by fatigue. Michael cupped his hands in the water again, and brought the liquid to his face once more, afterwards reaching for the soft towel to pat the moisture away. He turned as he did, to make his way, unseeing, to the bed in which he meant to rest.

His quarters were Spartan, containing little more than his bed, and the many surfaces, already covered with many tablets of data, which he has spent the better part of his time manipulating, studying – it was an endless process, but necessary.

He threw off his coat, pitching it to the nearby chair, and sitting down on the side of the bed, pulled off his heavy boots, preparing to undress. He should rest. There was much he had to do and without rest he was as like to make mistakes as he was to succeed in his work.

One tiny part of the solution eluded him. It was infuriating as it prevented the cloned cells from annealing to the embryonic template. It was a setback – no, a roadblock, and it was one that was more than beginning to frustrate him. As he moved to settle back against the cushioned head of the bed, he reached for the tablet on the table that stood beside the bed, turning enough to set eyes on the pillows.

_He set her down onto the soft, downy surface of the bed, and she reached to hold him even as he knelt over her, poised on the point of becoming one with her again. Emotion and sensation flowed overwhelmingly through his body and his mind and, at its call, he held himself no more – pushing smoothly and deeply against her trembling sex until the velvet of her body enfolded him so completely that when she cried out for him, as their hips met, his mind burst in an answering cry._

The memory caught him unawares, and he gasped, leaning on the bed and abandoning the tablet. The furious tide of his passion had swept him along in its current – years of longing broke apart in shared moments of glorious abandon.

_Her passion matched his, further fuelling it as she pulled his shirt over his head, and lavished attention on his chest, nipping at him until she drew the cries from him, then she drew his body against hers with greater fervour. He surrendered then to the intensity of his need, consuming her with his movements over her, inside her and felt her tightening around him, adding to the sensations this sharing gave. The bond they shared caught them both in a mutual exchange of feelings. He snarled lightly and she trembled beneath him in answer._

The Queen had derided his actions, and the thought of that flooded him with a lonely hurt anger. Not that her opinion mattered, save that it fuelled the already raging conflict that had him in its grasp, and the two sides of what he was warred endlessly back and forth on the merits and dangers of what he had done… what _they_ had done.

_Shared sensations flowed through him, his body responding to the physicality of the act. He felt her trembling with thrust upon and within her, and knew too, that in them both the gathering tension, hot and bright, would soon shatter and bring them to a deeper bonding still._

_Her fingers tangled in his hair and she drew his lips to meet hers as she lay back, bringing him with her and cried out encouragements, tearing away from the kiss as the motion joined them more deeply. He moved more quickly then and with a greater power as he felt her desperation for the breaking of the wave that held, poised, over the both of them. He growled softly, subsumed by the same urgent desire._

What had begun in anger had ended in a strange kind of peace, and yet, the solace he craved had not been answered, nor, he knew, for all that it had released tensions in the both of them, had it been for Teyla the fount of answers it could have been. Rather it seemed to have left them both with questions of so deep and fundamental a nature that he wondered if the dangers had not been the greater than the merits of it. Even so, he would not change those moments shared, and that, in itself, disturbed him.

For just a moment he considered dressing again, going to her, to give her all of him that he had denied to her in answering the opposite side of his nature than the act itself had strengthened in him.

_With a cry that matched hers, he shattered, a bright sharp, yet beautiful ache as he surrendered himself inside her, pulsing deep and strong as wave after wave took him deeper into ecstasy. He could not catch his breath and sank onto her, wrapping her in his arms as she burrowed closer, neither moved to part themselves from the other._

_Finally, still breathless, she whispered his name. He lifted his head to look into the dark depths of her eyes, falling into them as if she was all that there was. He took a breath, and swallowing hard, began to move away, even as he answered her call._

_"Teyla," he said softly. "You are not… hurt?"_

_He was acutely aware of his own strength and how he could have damaged her without intending it. He began to sit up, away from her, preparing to rise._

_"I am fine," she answered, and her hand closed over his arm. He whipped his head round to look at her again. "Michael, please… stay."_

_He swallowed again, harder still and looked away._

_"It is… not," he swallowed again to banish the lump forming in his throat, "appropriate for me to do so. I—"_

_He felt the frown, which creased her face, along their bond._

_"I do not understand," she said softly._

_"Yes, Teyla, you do," his voice was clipped as he spoke, but not in anger or unkindness, merely stating fact. "I know that you feel this bond, as do I."_

_"Yes, but—" she did not deny him, and yet he __**did**__ feel something akin to confusion from her._

_"It is not acceptable for a commander to remain after such an—" He faltered._

_"A what, Michael?" she demanded quietly. "What is it that we have done?"_

_"…after such an intimacy," he said, and even though she reached to turn his face toward her, he still refused to raise his eyes to meet with hers again._

Swallowing again, he pushed aside the thought of returning to her, closing his eyes a moment in the wash of fatigue that took a hold of him again. No. It had been a mistake to submit to that side of his hopes for a future with Teyla. It endangered him – endangered them both, and sighing softly, he stood only long enough to finish preparing for sleep, before he lay down and covered himself with a blanket. They were en route to one of his border worlds, and the other inhabited worlds in its vicinity, and once they arrived, Teyla, however she felt at that time, would begin to regret what she had done, he was certain of it. The realisation was a deep cut to his heart, and with another sad sigh, he closed his eyes, quickly allowing sleep to take him from his gathering sorrow.

**

At the edge of the woodland to the south of the settlement, Malcolm turned and looked back toward the meadow where the new Hive had grown rapidly in the last several planetary hours. He knew that as soon as it was finished the Queen would command its launch and they would be away from there, with all of the resources they had gathered, but scouting parties had returned with news of wreckage in the trees and in the valleys beyond and for no reason he could explain, he felt compelled to investigate. He did not dare to hope.

"All the patrols are in, Second," the Commander's voice from behind him startled him, and he cursed himself for his lack of vigilance. It could have cost him his life. "Why is it that you waste valuable time combing a debris field that has already been named a charnel house?"

Malcolm growled softly, aware that the Commander was attempting to taunt him. Slowly, he turned to face the other Wraith.

"Could it be that you are… searching for signs that your little… plaything has—?" the Commander purred sarcastically.

"You would do well not to attempt to anger me, Commander," Malcolm said, as mildly as he could muster.

The Commander drew himself up to his full height and snarled, "Are you threatening me?"

"Oh, no," Malcolm answered, his eyes flashing. "It is no mere threat."

"Then answer my question!" the Commander raised his voice, pushing a jarring mental slap against Malcolm's mind.

_((answer my question!)) ((answer me)) ((answer me)) ((answer me)) ((answer me))_

_{pathetic!} {pathetic!} {pathetic!} {weakness incarnate} {weakness} {weakness} {weakness}_

Malcolm pushed back, stimulating the pain receptors in the Commander's brain, just lightly… just enough that the other Wraith would remember that he was outmatched in this and many other ways.

Abandoning his attempt at mental domination, as Malcolm had expected he would, the Commander lashed out in the only other way left to him.

"Your little Human whore is dead!" he snarled, "Scattered atoms in the frigid wastes of space along with all the other useless, worthless—"

It was not simply the Commander's derision of his servant that had Malcolm act before he could halt his movements, nor was it the emotionally painful response of hearing Isla named as dead, rather it was these facts in combination with the knowledge of the Commander's singular lack of understanding of the symbiosis of the Hive, its Wraith and the worshippers that served both, that pushed Malcolm beyond the endurance of his patience. If it were to be now, then so be it.

Reaching behind him, for the hilt of the long blade sheathed at his back, Malcolm came on the Hive Commander in a single stride. His strong arms swung the blade forward, into an arc leading his motion toward the other Wraith. Not quite wild, yet it was a swing that would leave his balance in flux.

The Commander ducked backward, bending his spine so that the blade passed harmlessly through the air above his head, but slipped and was forced to step back and put his knee under him against the ground for support as he snatched at his own long blade.

Malcolm gave no quarter, turning the blade around his hand he prepared to stab downwards, to impale the hateful Wraith and be done. He could gather his head afterward to present to the Queen as proof of succession. The Commander's blade met the downward thrust, turned it aside and locked against the answering pressure Malcolm placed against the parry until the Commander was forced to push away.

It was all he needed. Turning the blade again in his hand, he thrust forward harshly, and fast, his blade moving down a diagonal path toward the Commander's exposed chest.

"Hold!"

_=hold= =hold= =hold= =hold= =hold=_

At the Queen's voice, and the touch of her mind in his, Malcolm froze, pulling the strike to a quivering halt mere inches from the Commander. The Commander's obedience was not so immediate. He struck out toward Malcolm's belly with his sword. He braced himself for the pain.

It did not come. The Queen's hand flashed forward and with an audible crack, connected with the Commander's chest, pushing him backward, taking the sword out of Malcolm's space. The Commander spilled to the ground as though he had been cut down.

Malcolm breathed out a long, slow breath and carefully lowered himself to one knee, planting the tip of his blade in the ground, in supplication of the Queen as she turned her gaze his way.

_=I understand your frustrations, Second= =frustrations= =Second= =frustrations= =but until we have left this world, I need both of you= =both of you= =both of you= =both of you= =both of your strengths= =strengths= =strengths= =strengths= =and his weakness= =weakness= =weakness= =when the Hive is launched, at that time…= =at that time…= =at that time…= =if such is still your desire= =your desire= =desire= =desire=_

_{my Queen}_

"There is much work to be done," she said aloud, and Malcolm saw the Hive's third in command stiffen at her back, "and here I find my two most trusted commanders brawling like common prey and for what?"

Malcolm remained silent, allowing the Commander his due in first answering the Queen.

"My Queen," the Commander stammered, not moving from where he lay on his back. "The Second wasted time in combing debris fields that had already been declared as void of life. I came to remind him of his duty and he—"

"Enough!" she snarled, and to the Commander, added, "You, attend me!"

She turned her head Malcolm's way then.

_=if at such time…=_

"There are duties that require your attention, Second," she said far more harshly than her mental touch suggested she intended. "See to your tasks, and leave the Commander to his own work."

"As you command," Malcolm said, lowering his head in a bow, even as he moved to rise, "My Queen."

**

_"A what, Michael?" Teyla demanded quietly, and her heart contracted, almost in fear to know how he saw the passion they had just shared. "What is it that we have done?"_

_"…after such an intimacy," he said. At his words she reached out and firmly turned his face toward her. His eyes remained downcast and he swallowed hard._

_"You name it an act of intimacy and yet—"_

_"Wraith do not—"_

_"You are not Wraith, Michael," she said softly._

_"Neither am I fully Human," he argued, almost tremulously. "Hundreds of centuries, Teyla, of culture and conditioning__**,**__ I cannot shake in a few short years, no matter how much we—"_

_A sudden bolt of jealousy panged within her at the thought of the others that must have shared this before her, in those thousands of years, the Queens, the Humans subjected to his will…His eyes snapped up then, met with her own._

_"How will you ever," she whispered, "if you do not try?"_

_For many long moments he held her gaze, and through the bond she felt a quieting of the conflict that whirled within him as he sought to bridge the differences within. Then, at the same time a reassuring touch descended as a soft touch against the side of her cheek. His fingertips barely brushed her skin. She leaned into the touch. Her mind screamed at him to stay._

_"Forgive me, Teyla," he said, and snatched the touch away from her skin. "I cannot stay."_

_She closed her eyes as he pulled away from her, biting back the words of protest, of supplication for him to change his mind. She would not give him that. She barely heard him leave, but fell back against the linen that still bore his scent as her eyes filled with tears of—_

The sound that woke her was soft. It was barely more than a light footfall, but it came from the direction of the crib and in an instant she was awake, and moving to cover herself enough to be decent as she tried to put herself between the figure she saw in the half light as she opened her eyes, and her son.

"Get away from him," she snarled, and without realising what she had done, reached out mentally to push the intruder away.

A light gasp came in answer, followed by a soft, young female voice.

"Forgive me," she said. "I did not mean to waken you, nor to disturb The Child, but—"

"What do you want?" Teyla asked harshly, wishing she could see the woman better. At her unspoken command, the light level in the room increased.

The woman that stood at the foot of her bed was young, had perhaps seen a score of summers and a handful more. Her hair was long and dark, but was tied back to keep it from her face. Her skin, though pale, bore no trace of hybridisation – and this confused Teyla, since she had so obviously responded to Teyla's unwittingly given mental reprimand.

"He bid me wait in attendance on you," the woman answered, swallowing. "You were still sleeping, and I thought—"

"I need no servant," Teyla told the woman, the hammering of her heart in fear for her son barely abating.

"A companion then, a…" the woman faltered, before finishing, "…friend? Please, I—he…"

Teyla wavered on the edge of indecision. If this woman had indeed been instructed by Michael to attend to her care and she refused her, it would likely be the woman that suffered, and Teyla would not bring herself to be responsible for harm to another. She held up her hand to stop the other woman's worry.

"I am Teyla," she said, though she doubted such an introduction was necessary. "What is your name and where are you from?"

"My name is Midani," the woman said, her voice trembling as much as she was, visibly so. "I came from Harlesscan."

"I know it. My people traded often with the settlements on your world," Teyla told her. As she spoke, with the sheet wrapped around her, Teyla moved to check on Nethaiye. He wriggled slightly in place, awake and alert, looking up at her. Her heart melted and she reached out to gently caress his cheek. He grasped her hand, pulling it toward his mouth, and in her mind she felt the sudden rush of his needs. "He is hungry."

"There is food here," Midani told her, and as Teyla looked in her direction the woman gestured to the table. "For both of you… clothes too. If you wish to bathe and dress I could care for The Child and—"

"No!" Teyla snapped, regretting her tone as the woman shrank away.

"I will not harm him," she said almost desperately. "I have cared for him until you came. He is barely the turning of one of our lunar cycles younger than my own."

Teyla gasped, and stumbled back to sit on the corner of the bed, looking up at the woman as she moved closer, as though she intended to be a support.

"You have a child of your own? Here?" she asked.

"Yes," Midani said, "a daughter, she travels with me, and the one that is her father. Life for us does not simply stop because we have joined his Cause."

Teyla frowned, feeling a great weight settle on her as she asked, "Are all of your people h-hybrids?"

"From… my settlement, the men were given the treatment, yes," Midani answered. "Those of us bonded to the men folk were permitted to accompany our bondmates; the others were transported to other settlements and remain on Harlesscan."

"All of them?" Teyla repeated, her voice barely a whisper as she pictured the settlements of that world stripped of their people, the men transformed into Michael's creatures, and yet, by this woman's words it was not as she had pictured – not quite… "The women?"

Midani shook her head. "Rarely, few of us are given an injection that makes us able to hear his will, but… no woman has ever received the treatment."

"You?"

Midani nodded fearfully, and said, "I hear him. Yes."

"Midani, he—"

"We want for _nothing_ and it keeps us safe from the Wraith," Midani stepped forward, twisting her skirt in her hands. "My daughter would not have survived if not for his help. Many others of us would not have survived the culling of the Wraith. Don't you see?"

_"I'm building an army that will soon replace them as the dominant race in this galaxy," he said, speaking of the Wraith. Emotions warred within her at his words._

_"An army of monsters," she said, remembering the creatures from the resettled Taranan's new home world, only imagining what he must have done since that time. It frightened her, but she refused to let it show._

_"I'll admit," he said nodding, "my early attempts were a little… crude, but that's all changed now. I've refined the retrovirus to create the perfect balance. Ability well beyond any normal Human but without… the one weakness that will be the downfall of the Wraith…"_

Her breathing quickened until she felt light headed, as though she would fall at any moment from her perch. Was it possible that these people were here through _choice_ and not simply because they were prisoners turned into puppet creatures to do his bidding?

She gasped softly, as Midani's hand pressed against her shoulder, supportive and warm, and with a kindness that flowed from the touch that she sensed along the growing mental bond she shared with Michael, and she knew he watched this woman, the one he had chosen to care for her son. She could not help but glance Nethaiye's way.

"Please," Midani said softly, "let me help you. All will be well. You will see."

In spite of herself, and the frightened suspicions she still felt, she could not help but feel herself warming toward the woman.

**

"My Queen, I—"

"Do not speak!" the Queen rounded on the Commander as the door closed behind the two of them. "This is an outrage! How _dare_ you spend your time quarrelling with the Second when there is a Hive to be rebuilt – worshippers to be directed – _Wraith_ to be guided who look to their _Commander_ to receive that guidance. What were you _thinking_?"

"But, My Queen—"

"Silence!"

_=silence= =silence= =silence= =silence= =silence=_

She pressed her will harshly into his narrow and weakening mind, and watched as he lowered himself to his knees; stalked closer and reached for him with her blade tipped fingers.

_=how long did you believe I would allow this rivalry to go on at such a time?= =such a time= =such a time= =such a time=_

"My Queen, you do not understand," she saw he risked glancing up, his eyes almost meeting hers. "The traitor was—"

"Traitor?" she roared, and released his chin, only to lash out, drawing four parallel cuts down across his face. "You call him traitor when all through the battle he fought to bring us to safety."

_=but for him the Hive and all souls would have been lost= =lost= =lost= =lost= =lost= =it is him we should thank for our survival= =our survival= =our survival= =our survival=_

"You favour the Second then?" he asked, gasping, she knew, against the pain she caused him.

"I favour _no one_," she snarled the untruth into the Commander's face. "I _demand_ obedience, and loyalty to the Hive. Have you demonstrated that… Commander?"

"I have never failed you, my Queen, never betrayed you?" he stammered, drawing away from her. She felt his fear of her anger and drank it deep, drawing strength from it, revelling in her power over him.

"No?" she questioned.

_The Human woman's cry became lost in his snarling; she was breathless as he pounded into her, still from behind, still with the rough abandon of his unsated frustration. The deck tipped suddenly and still he lavished his possession on her; laid his weight on her, sinking deeper still._

The Queen thrust the plundered memory so deeply into his mind that he gasped and fell away from her, to lie squirming on the floor of the hovel under her influence.

_=where were you when my Hive fell around me?= =where were you?= =where were you?= =where?= =where?= =where?=_

"My Queen, I—" he gasped, and she released him then, turning away to go stalking toward the makeshift throne they had erected for her.

"Last chance, Commander," she hissed as she took her seat. "Do not fail me again."

**

At his place, standing at the console, Michael stiffened, barely perceptible to any but himself as the Hive came screaming out of subspace into high orbit around a world set apart from the others in its system, not by physical distance, but by its sworn allegiances.

"Status?" he demanded.

"The system is clear. There are no Wraith Hives in the vicinity," Rissek's answer came back smoothly.

"Then it would appear that our timing is perfect," he answered. "Set a course for the system's third planet - ready main weapons."

"Main weapons are online, and ready for firing," another hybrid answered.

"Fire when in range," Michael instructed dispassionately, aware that there would be casualties at first. There always were, but this time it bothered him more than others. Shaking away the feelings, he concentrated on the approach. The timing of the assaults was always critical and it would not do for him to be distracted.

"Target acquired," Rissek announced, though Michael, in rapport with the Hive ship, already knew. He brought the Hive to a halt in a low geostationary orbit, as the hybrid at the tactical station began firing.

A soft growl escaped him. Soon he would have the numbers he needed to crew a second ship – a cruiser if not another Hive.

**

Teyla looked up, glancing toward the viewing portals as she felt the Hive slow to a stop, and the weapons engaged then fired. She heard them before she felt the changes. A frown of concern crossed her face, and gathering Nethaiye into her arms, she approached the viewing port to try and see more clearly.

The planet below them, swathed in the grey of cloud over the green and brown of its land masses, and the blue and green of its waters became alight with the yellow and orange of explosions. She could almost hear the screams from the people below.

"He is firing on the planet," she said, half to herself. Then turning to the woman who was fussing over ensuring the debris from the meal was tidied away. "Why?"

Midani looked at her, shifting somewhat uncomfortably.

"Tell me," she said quiet but urgently.

"I… do not know," the woman said, looking down.

"You are lying," Teyla said. "You wish for me to trust you, and yet you lie to me when first I ask something of you."

"It is not for me to comment on his methods," Midani said, looking up. "Or even to know if he treats all places the same."

Shifting Nethaiye to cradle him in one arm as she approached the other woman, she reached out and took her arm, drawing her to sit on the end of the bed. She sat beside her, watching as the woman once more set to wringing her hand in her skirts.

"Tell me, Midani," Teyla said gently, "When Michael came to your village, what did he do?"

Midani shook her head.

"We thought it was a culling," she said, her eyes drifting back in time. "The Darts came upon us in the middle of Even-meal. There was nowhere for us to run. Fifty of our people were gone in the blinking of an eye. We mourned them for the turning of three moons' cycles, and then they came back…

_"Wraith!"_

_The young shepherd boy ran in from the fields in the gathering gloom of evening, when he should have been tending his dwindling flock. Since the farmers that were left had grown sick, the condition of the animals had weakened and many had to be euthanized. Few were good enough to eat. The village was hungry, and in danger of becoming empty of all life._

_Midani gasped and pressed her hand against her swollen belly. If the Wraith came now, they would surely not spare her for the child she carried._

_"Stay here," her bondmate said, pointing to her place beside the hearth. "If it is Wraith I will send word, and for the sake of our child you must head to the mountain caves."_

_"I won't go without you, Teldris," she argued._

_"Yes, you will," he told her. "Your duty, and mine now, is to see that our child is safe, whatever we must do to ensure it."_

_The whine of Darts grew louder in the still of the evening and before she could argue further, Teldris was gone from the house, leaving her to obey him and gather her things in preparation._

_The culling beams sounded out of the night, and for too long afterwards there was a strange quiet from outside. Midani eased her way to the door, to open it and from the doorway saw what had silenced the rest of the men folk of the village. There, standing before them all, were the ones that had been taken months since, only… there was something about them, in their stillness and the pallid quality of their skin which bore marks on their faces, as did the Wraith, and yet… they were not Wraith._

"A single Dart returned then, and with its beam, set down into our midst the one you call… M-michael," Midani said, having a great deal of trouble, Teyla saw, to say the name. "At his gesture, the ones that had returned began to move among us, coming to ones that had been family, and then, with no warning at all, the Dart circled and opened fire on the village. Four shots, I think, were fired and the home behind me… became nothing but rubble…"

_She heard Teldris call her name, but was disoriented from the destruction behind her and stumbled forward, felt a hand close around her arm._

_"Stand still!" The figure attached to the hand that still held her; that pulled her in closer, rang out. "I will not harm her."_

_"Let her go!" Teldris yelled._

_"Once she has found her balance," The man that held her, no… not a man, she saw, as she turned her head up to look at him, but not a Wraith either, though he seemed somewhere between the two. "In her condition it would not do for her to fall. Had the attack truly been from the Wraith, your woman and your child would both be lost. I mean you no harm."_

_"What do you want with us?" Teldris demanded._

_The one that held her tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. "It is what I offer that should concern you, Teldris, and the rest of your people."_

_"My people are dying," Teldris spat, and took a step forward, toward the stranger that held her. Immediately all of their people that had returned drew weapons and pointed them at her bondmate._

_"Please, don't hurt him," she begged and reached to press a touch against his arm. She was prevented. His wrist met with hers, pushing her hand aside._

_-he will not be harmed-_

_The voice in her mind startled her and she whimpered._

_"What did you do to her," Teldris bristled, but held his ground._

_"I'm all right," she told him softly._

_"The sickness your people suffer," the one holding her said, "I can help with that. In addition I can see to it that those remaining in neighbouring settlements are safe from the Wraith."_

_"No one can do that," Teldris accused softly, "Not even the Wraith themselves__**,**__ can keep us from other Wraith."_

_"That's where you're wrong." He raised his voice then, addressing all of the villagers, and released her to return to her bondmate's side. "As you can see, I have returned your loved ones to you, unharmed. Bring me your sick, and I will help them. In return, I offer a haven for those among you that would join my Cause in bringing about the extermination of the Wraith."_

"And that was what he did," Midani said, catching Teyla's hand. "You must believe, he kept his word. My best friend, Haydria, she was sick with a terrible fever, and could not catch her breath. Her bondmate was the first to bring her to him. He took her away, and some days later, she returned to us, fully healed and well. After that, one by one, the villagers of my settlement agreed to join him. The rest was as I have told you."

"Yet now he fires on settlements from orbit," Teyla said, and found herself trembling with anger. "What did these people do to deserve this?"

"I cannot know his mind, his intent, please…" Midani clutched her hand more tightly still.

"I _can_," Teyla said saddened through her anger.

…_Michael, please stop…_

She began to hand Nethaiye to Midani. "Watch my son; be sure that I will know… if any harm comes to him."

"I will not harm him," Midani told her plaintively. "I have cared for him as though he were my own."

Teyla nodded, and said, "I will return soon."

"Please do not anger him," Midani said, clearly afraid as she cradled Nethaiye in her arms. "He will know—"

Teyla just shook her head, freeing herself from the other woman as she got to her feet.

"I will return," she repeated, and headed for the door.

**

"Dispatch the Darts," Michael ordered, and then lifted his head as he felt her contact; heard her plea. He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. He had expected her objections, but not so soon, and not when she was not in full possession of the facts. That Midani would have told her of her own recruitment and that of her people, he had no doubt. He expected it; welcomed it even, but for Teyla to have assumed the worst of his actions disappointed him.

_-show her to the bridge-_

He sent the silent instruction to the hybrids stationed outside of Teyla's quarters. Perhaps if she saw and understood the greater picture, she would more readily accept his tactics.

It was not long before she arrived, marching into the control area of the bridge; her head high. He could not help that his breath caught in his chest at the sight of her in the soft leather skirts of the deepest black that swung around her ankles. They were cut in the Athosian fighting style, indeed had been made by those of her people that remained with him, as had the shirt, softer, a dark suede fabric, tooled with silver amid the black in swirling Athosian designs. She was truly beautiful and wore the aura of an avenging angel as she took the place that, on instinct, he vacated.

_-Teyla-_

Mentally he reached for her as she fit her hands into the controls, and closed her eyes, connecting with the Hive. He felt the ship shift around him, and a part of him soared in elation, and yet he could not allow her to undermine his authority with his hybrids. He closed his hand around her arm as she began to shut down systems one by one.

Savagely she snatched her arm out of his grasp.

"What is it you do here," she demanded.

"You have connected with the Hive and therefore have access to the data concerning this world," he said as mildly as his rising temper would allow. He took a breath and once more closed his hand around her arm. This time his grasp was unyielding. "The settlement being fired upon is loyal to the Wraith and has attacked neighbouring villages who do not share the same loyalty. This strike, Teyla, is in protection of our own."

"_Our_ own?" she spat. "Then the others are _your_ people?"

"Yes." Michael said, and his heart sank at the stress she put on the words she spoke.

"And what will you do with the worshippers, when you have them subdued."

He frowned at her as if in confusion, and before she could speak again, drew her quickly, practically marching her into an adjoining chamber, where he closed the door behind them.

**

"Do?"

Michael relaxed his hold on her arm, so Teyla snatched herself away from his grasp again, fixing him with a cold expression that matched her anger.

"Yes. What will you do with them once they have surrendered?" she demanded.

"They ally themselves with the Wraith, Teyla," he turned to her fully and spread his arms in appeal, as if the solution were obvious. "Even were they to surrender, they cannot be trusted. They—"

"—may be as they are because they had no other choice!" she implored him.

"Do you believe," he snapped, advancing on her, "that the Wraith would show mercy to any of my people, were they discovered?"

"That is _not_ the point," she countered. "If you show no mercy to these people you are no _better_ than the Wraith!"

"Mercy?" he questioned, the distaste clear in his voice.

"Yes," she stepped toward him, reaching out a hand. "If you were to show them compassion—"

He slapped her hand away, and in fear she stepped back as he advanced still further. How could she have believed she could ever hope to reach within him to find the humanity and bring it to the fore? What had she done?

Her eyes filled with tears as he snarled, "Compassion? In this galaxy that has shown me none? How can you expect that I would be willing to grant that which I have been denied?"

"Not… so, Michael," Her throat tightened in empathy of the pain coursing through him. She pressed a hand against his chest.

…_please, Michael… …listen to me…_

"No, Teyla," he growled, "I cannot, not this time, I—"

"Cannot or _will_ not?" she asked. "Does my compassion mean nothing to you? Do_ I_ mean _nothing_ to you?"

"I _must_ protect the Cause," he answered, his voice harsh with the pain she felt her question brought him. "How can you not _see _that?"

He grasped her arms tightly, almost shaking her, and she felt his mind pushing at hers as he implored her to understand.

"You are hurting me," she told him, pushing against his restraining grasp.

"I had hoped you would—"

"And I _would_," she wound her fingers into the lapel of his coat, "but not like this. Not with this needless destruction."

"I have _told _you," he leaned down to her, fixing her with an earnest expression, "what I have done – what I do here – _must be_ in order for our survival."

"These people," she argued. "If they could be turned away from the Wraith—"

"They would already have capitulated to my demands," he snarled. "There is nothing more that I can do for them. I must go and see that they are—"

"Let me come with you; talk to them," she asked. "If I cannot reason with them then—"

"No!" he roared at her, and shook her hard once, before letting go and pacing away and then spinning to face her. "It is too dangerous. I cannot allow—"

"Michael—"

"No," he advanced on her again, but this time she held her ground. "Any one of them could—"

"I will not stand idly by and allow you to—" her breath caught as he took hold of her again, "to slaughter these people when it is likely fear of reprisals that prevents them from making a choice. Allow them to make that choice, Michael. Show them that you can be compassionate where the Wraith cannot!"

He met her eyes, and she held his gaze, spiralling into him, into his mind to convince him of the strength, not only of her conviction, but of her belief… in the situation, and in him…

**

Beckett leaned closer to the microscope, to see again first hand the image that graced the screen of the computer attached to it. The configuration of cells, and the model of the DNA were irritatingly familiar. Straightening again, he pulled up his stool, sitting back to search his memory for any occasion he might have seen such a thing.

_"How is it coming, Doctor?"_

_Beckett looked up as Michael stormed into the lab, the expression on his face almost as grim as the doctor's own._

_"It's not," he said. "Even with the addition of a specifically programmed retrovirus to force transcription, when the cells divide beyond eight, the organism begins to produce a destructive enzyme that completely reverses the transcription process. I'm telling you, Michael, it won't work."_

_"What is the composition of this enzyme?" Michael frowned as he leaned in closer and Beckett knew he was checking his work._

_"Predominantly the same as the Wraith enzyme," he said, bringing up the visual representation of the chemical composition. "That's probably why it reacts so badly with the Human cells."_

_"What of those within a Human host?" Michael asked coldly._

_"Aye," he said, "They fair a little better, though not by much, and after the cellular breakdown begins within the organism it proceeds to attack the Human host as well. We've already lost two of the subjects to this."_

_"Try again," Michael said and handed him a box containing a number of vials in stasis. "And try also using the cells you harvested from the Wraith Queen we captured."_

_"Those cells were corrupted, Michael," he reminded him. "If they're already damaged I don't see what use they'll be to creating this perfect cl—"_

_"Do as I ask, Doctor," Michael snapped. "You already know the cost of your disobedience."_

_But Beckett wasn't listening. He had already set the contents of one of the small vials onto a slide to begin an examination of the cells Michael had provided for him this time. He gasped softly._

_"These are…" he looked up at Michael, horrified, all manner of possibilities running through his mind. "This ovum is from a hybrid – a __**natural**__hybrid. Where did you get it?"_

"Oh no!" Beckett said softly as he moved to bring the computer image to a greater magnification. "Dear God, please tell me I'm wrong."

Hurriedly he started pulling slides out of stasis, all of them Keller's, and calling up the results of blood work taken as far back as when she first came to Atlantis. Frantically he began comparing slide after slide, result after result, looking for the one piece of evidence he hoped not to find, and when, some minutes later, he found it, staring at him from the blood work taken shortly after his death – the death of the original Carson Beckett – he cupped his head in his hands, and breathed out long and slow.

Jennifer Keller possessed the Chimera Radical that he and Michael had identified as being necessary to allow transcription of Wraith RNA to begin in Human cells.

**

She hurried to keep up with Michael as he strode into the settlement where his men had corralled the survivors of the first wave of attacks. Buildings still smouldered around them, and women crouched by fallen men, tending their injuries and, seeing her, looked on with eyes filled with hope.

Abruptly, Michael came to a halt in the middle of the central space, obviously searching the assembled villagers for a single face. Teyla could feel the smouldering anger that he kept buried beneath a cold façade. Her breath quickened with the familiarity of the feeling; and the way it strengthened when his eyes found the man he sought, and sent his hybrids to pull him from the crowd.

…_leave him his dignity… …let him come to you…_

_-you do not know this man- -stay away from him, Teyla-_

"You know why we are here," Michael said aloud, his voice ringing clear across the occupied space.

"To destroy the homes and families we built," the man spat as the hybridsdragged him apart from his companions and to his knees in the space between the crowd, and Michael and Teyla who stood now, side by side, though, Teyla noted, Michael kept himself a distance from her. "If you think to beguile us with the woman, think again. Our masters know you for what you are - abomination!"

"It is the Wraith that beguile you," Teyla said softly, though her voice carried. "He offers you another way. A way to defeat the Wraith… remain safe and—"

"Spare me! He offers us nothing but an ultimatum," the man shook off the hybrids and came to his feet, turning his head Teyla's way. "Join his Cause, or—"

"Then answer this," Teyla interrupted, speaking not just to the headman of the village, but to all the assembled villagers. "When the Wraith next arrive – what will they demand of you?"

"They ask only that we give a handful of our people. Then they go and leave us in peace," one of the villagers called out.

"A handful – _only_ a handful," Teyla repeated, stepping forward, and she felt Michael control his reflex to move with her. "Still, is it not true then that this leaves families without fathers and sons, children without their mothers?"

"What do _you_ know of such things?" The headman spat petulantly, taking half a step towards Teyla. "And why ally yourself with this… this… _thing_ that is neither fully Wraith nor Human when you once enjoyed the protection of the Lanteans? I know who you are!"

Teyla shook her head and held out her hand to him. She knew that by his words, even if the village acquiesced to Michael, this one had practically condemned himself. She could feel it in the anger that bristled at her back.

"Both of my parents were taken by the Wraith. I know what it is to live without both mother and father, and I would not wish it for any one of you," she looked around, meeting the eyes of as many villagers as she could. In some she saw hate, blind fervour and devotion to the words of their Wraith masters. These she doubted she could save, but in others she saw fear, subjugation and the tiniest spark of hope. She would have to choose her words carefully. "And yes… what he says is true. I used to be among those of Atlantis, but over time I came to realise that their ways were not always the best for meeting the needs of the people of Pegasus – people like you. So we have parted ways and I must choose my own path now."

_Michael threw the transport ship into a desperate manoeuvre as the Darts from the Elder Queen's Hive closed in on them, firing on them and attempting to cut off their escape from the Hive. Teyla knew that they barely had minutes before damage to the Hive would cause it to explode, and if they were not far enough away they would be vaporised in the blast._

_Without consulting either the hybrid or Michael, and hoping they were still within range Teyla keyed her headset to activate the transmitter._

_"John, can you provide covering fire? We need your assistance," she said urgently. "We are aboard a transport ship, harried by several Darts. Repeat, can you provide covering fire? We need your assistance."_

_"Do you truly believe that will do any good?" the hybrid asked mockingly. "You would do better to assist in the piloting of this craft. The serum I gave him will not last indefinitely."_

_Even as he mocked her, she saw from the sensors that the Darts had peeled off and were fighting in another direction. She turned an I-told-you-so smile the hybrid's way and activating her mic again, and using words she had heard those of Atlantis use before, said, "Godspeed, John Sheppard. I will contact you when I am able."_

"With _that_?" the headman spat.

Ignoring him, and guessing that those in whom she saw defiance against her persuasion were the leaders of this village, and those that benefited most from their allegiance with the Wraith, she said, "Similarly, each of you is free to choose your own path. You do not have to follow the dictates of those among you that are favoured in this agreement they have made."

Even had he not growled as he came at her, Teyla was ready for the headman to attack. Her foot rested against a piece of debris from Michael's bombardment of the village, and she kicked the long wooden pole up into her hands and caught the hilt of the blade he swung at her on the end of the makeshift staff and tore it from his grasp, following with a strike to the man's legs that sent him stumbling towards Michael.

It was over even before the hybrids could bring their weapons to bear and, as she came to rest in a state of readiness, her staff held poised to defend against any other attack that might have come, Teyla winced as she heard the sickening crack of bone. She tilted her head in time to see Michael release the body of the headman, whose neck he had broken in swift… retributive justice.

"No!" the cry came from her opposite side, and the ripple of movement caught in the edges of her peripheral vision as the woman, obviously the one bonded to the village headman, pushed through the crowd and began to race toward her man.

Teyla's heart wept for the woman in that moment, and she dropped the staff, to catch the woman in her arms; to keep her from acting against Michael in her moment of grief.

"You can do nothing for him now," she said as the woman struggled with her. "I am truly sorry for your loss, but—"

Pain blossomed in her side and lower back. She gasped, and belatedly she realised that the woman, too, held a weapon – a small bladed knife – with which she had made the painful slashing attack.

She caught the woman's wrist and twisted until she heard the blade thud to the ground.

"Stop!" she commanded the woman, holding her fast, still trying to protect her even after what she had done. "He is gone. He—"

"Murdered!" the woman threw the curse in Michael's direction, and breaking from Teyla's grasp, threw herself on her now dead husband.

Drawing her long coat more tightly around her, Teyla got to her feet, slowly, using all that she possessed to hide the injury from Michael's notice, twisting her empathy for the woman around into the anger she suddenly and strongly felt on behalf of those that held no status in the village.

"This," she said, pointing to the headwoman's display of grief, "this is something I know many of you know – when the Wraith take your men folk, your sons… your daughters, wives and mothers. It need not be. You have the chance to do more than just _escape _from… subjugation at the hands of the Wraith, but to fight back, to… break their domination of this galaxy, but you… _you_ must make that choice!"

She saw one of Michael's hybrids come from the outskirts of the village and come to Michael and speak in hushed tones with him.

"Time's up!" he said as he raised his head from the conference and spoke in a clipped voice that bordered on anger. "A Wraith cruiser has just dropped out of hyperspace and is heading for this planet. We are leaving. You know the alternatives."

He held out his hand in Teyla's direction, a signal to her that she should come with them, but not a demand. She felt his touch in her mind and it was almost gentle, almost affectionate as though what she had tried to do, howeverunsuccessfully, had somehow strengthened the endearment he felt toward her. She began to move toward him.

"Wait!" a small voice called out among the top of the growing din.

Teyla paused at Michael's side and they both turned to face the speaker. A young woman, barely out of childhood stepped forward, holding the hands of two younger children, clearly her siblings. Behind her an older man reached for her, as though trying to stop her.

"Yes?" Michael prompted after a moment, surprising Teyla.

"If we agree to join you – if our fathers and brothers agree to fight with you – what of those of us that cannot fight; do not know how? Will you abandon us as our village leaders would do in their service to the Wraith?" She nodded toward where a small knot of villagers had somehow separated themselves from the others. In fact as Teyla watched it seemed to her that the flow of the crowd was somehow dividing the villagers. She held her breath, hardly daring to hope.

…_Michael…_

She reached out to brush a touch against his mind as he stood immobile, watching, as she was, the ebb and flow of the people before them.

"Any man that willingly submits himself to join The Cause may bring with him the family unit to which he belongs," Michael confirmed.

"And what of those of us that _have_ no men folk, because they have already been given in sacrifice to the Wraith?" an older woman asked.

"Those of you that demonstrate loyalty will be similarly treated with equanimity and given a purpose," he answered.

For many long moments there was little but a quiet murmur among the almost Brownian flow among the people, then, just as Teyla thought the efforts had all been in vain, the father of the girl that had first spoken pushed past his daughter and looking toward the tangle of elders raised his head as if in proud defiance of them and spoke.

"My family," he said. "We will join you."

Michael nodded curtly and Teyla felt him issue unspoken instructions to one of his hybrid soldiers who then moved to the family, beginning to lead them away. Even as they did, another small family unit stepped forward, then another. Out from the tide of doubt among the people several emerged willing to embrace the chance that Michael offered, and though Teyla knew it came at a price, still, she realised, there was far more to Michael's organisation that she or any other knew.

"We must go."

She started as she felt Michael's hand close on her elbow and the press of his arm across her back as he reached to take the other, to lead her away in a protective fashion. She hoped his hand would not brush lower, to where she knew blood from her injury was beginning to soak through her coat. If he knew she was hurt, she feared he would exact retribution against these people and her efforts at mitigation would have been all for nothing.

"Are you satisfied?" his question startled her still more. "A handful of villagers willing to listen to your rhetoric?"

"If my reasoning," she told him as she hurried to match his rapid stride, "here today or _any_ day saves even a single life then it is worth every effort I have given to make it so."

Michael nodded.

"Very well," he said to her and calling one of his hybrids to walk with them, instructed, "Of the remaining, separate the common villagers from their elders, and prepare the men to receive the treatment. Bring the women and children aboard the Hive and quarter them in the lower stations. See to it that they gather provision and their belongings quickly – we must leave before the Wraith cruiser is within range."

"The others?" the hybrid asked.

"Neutralise them," Michael instructed coldly, and though Teyla winced, she also knew he had no choice.

**

"What the hell do you mean, missing?" Sheppard asked incredulously as Warsh almost trotted to keep up with him.

"I mean missing, Colonel," Warsh said. "We've been searching the city since the infirmary reported he'd absconded, and he's nowhere!"

"The man's hurt – just recovering from major surgery, he can't have gone far," he snapped.

"This is Ronon we're talking about," Warsh said, turning a look Sheppard's way.

"I know that, Lewis, but," he said, "where would he have gone?"

"I don't know, Sir, but I'm telling you, we've searched the city and he's nowhere."

"All right," Sheppard stopped walking and ran a hand through his hair. "I want… I want all the teams that have gone off world in the last twenty-four hours to be contacted. Find out if any of them have had any contact with Ronon. Same with all teams still conducting searches of the mainland. He's sick. We've gotta find him."

Warsh nodded acceptance of the orders, and started to walk away.

"And have a medical team standing by with a Jumper pilot available to take them straight to Ronon when we find him."

"Yes, Sir," Warsh said.

"And keep me posted," he added, starting to move off himself, "I'll be in the infirmary – trying to figure out how the hell this happened."

He couldn't help but think that it wouldn't have happened on Beckett's watch.

**

Isla's run of luck held, and the injured Wraith sub-commander remained immobile as she searched the console and found the switch to release the hatch at the rear of the ship.

She hardly dared to breathe as she slipped her hand away from beneath his arm, moving slowly, forcing herself not to snatch her hand away. The imperative, somehow implanted in her mind demanded she survive; demanded she seek out her master – and she had no doubt that he survived – and return to him.

As soon as she could she moved away, creeping as slowly back toward the now open hatch as she had approached the console, and the injured sub-commander. Everything still screamed at her to remain, to see to his wounds; at least to apply a tourniquet to stop the worst of the bleeding, but she knew if she did that, the chances that he would waken became far greater, and her chance for survival would diminish.

Reaching the rear compartment again, she began searching among the wreckage for those things that might prove useful. Her hand closed around the hilt of a weapon. She shuddered. To carry one without the instructions of one's master was a grave error, but she was not naïve enough to think that she would not need to have it, and grabbing a carrying bag from one of the storage compartments still intact, she quickly stuffed the weapon inside, along with a knife, and some foul smelling liquid she suspected was a fuel oil of some kind. The one thing she could not find was anything to use as a blanket, some kind of cover against the cold. The Wraith had obviously not anticipated transporting any of their worshippers in this particular craft.

Sighing, she turned to pick up the beacon light she had noticed close by the doorway between the cargo area**,** and the cockpit just as the shadow fell over her as the sub-commander loomed before her, reaching for her.

Stifling a scream, she scuttled backwards and tripped on one of the dead drones, continuing to skitter along, dragging herself on already aching arms as fast as she could. Still the sub-commander kept pace, tossing aside the fallen drones as though they had been little more than pebbles.

A hand reached out, clamped around her windpipe to stop her moving. Intense pain from his talons as they bit into her skin burst over the top of her fear, and she scratched at his hand, ineffectual and increasingly more desperate as his feeding hand mantled and came down hard against her chest.

She felt the bite of the barbs at his maw as they burrowed through her already ripped clothes, and the sting of the enzyme, prickling against the punctures the barbs made. She kicked at him, struggling desperately, abandoning clawing at his wrist to search within the limits of her reach for a weapon.

As the first bite of the agony of feeding coursed through her, she screamed, redoubling her efforts for freedom. As the pain brought a grey haze at the edges of her vision, her fingertips connected with something solid, and she stretched desperately, reaching until she could close her fingers around the jagged metal shard, heedless of the fact that it cut into the palm of her hand and her fingers as she swung it toward the Wraith's head.

Blood splashed hot against her fingers, making her grasp on the weapon hard to maintain as she drove it home, but rending pain in the depths of her being ceased abruptly, and freed from it she was able to push hard against the Wraith's restraining grasp and free herself, to fumble in the bag that had fallen nearby until she could heft the Wraith blaster. She closed her eyes as she fired, then turned to run and did not look back until the sting of branches whipping against her face convinced her of sufficient distance from the downed Wraith craft.

**

Though it was early, only just full dark, Keller tossed and tangled in her bed. She'd given up on the day some time after eating her evening meal, feeling sick and dizzy; her limbs and joints aching with an ague that she could neither escape, not explain.

She moaned softly, and turned her sweat soaked head the other way against the pillow, gasping and whispering in the dark.

"Todd… we can't… what if…"

_"Jennifer…" he growled softly, and grasping her hair, pulled back her head until he could nip at the base of her throat, drawing breathless cries from her. He tugged at the sheet she'd used to cover her, exposing her firm breasts to the touch of his eyes and hands, chuckling softly as, in spite of her own reticence, she reached for him._

_He turned her then, trapping her body beneath his, his hand against her back even as she struggled being so pinned._

_"Surrender, my Jennifer," he murmured, almost catlike at the back of her neck and her protests ended in a gasp of pleasure as his fingers found her centre, and plundered her dewy folds._

_"Todd!" she cried out, arching her back as she came hard against the touch of his hand, her trembling almost shaking her apart._

_His teeth nipped hard at the side of her neck and she felt the trail of her own blood as it made its lazy way over her collar bone, to splash against her breast. Still his fingers did not cease their lazy possession of her body, nor did his growls of pleasure as she pulsed around him, her ecstasy slow to leave… building again inside of her._

_"Todd, please…"_

_"Tell me," he rumbled, "Tell me what you need."_

_"You…" she gasped._

_"You have me," he growled softly._

_"Inside me…"_

_His touch left her then, left her feeling bereft and empty… filled only with the ache of a painful longing as the muscles of her sex trembled for want of being filled._

_"I want to feel you inside m—"_

_Her cry was shrill, but not of pain as he surged against her, suddenly filling her, undulating over her and inside of her, pushing at her thighs until she spread them still wider to press his body against her, taking him deeper still. She barely drew breath as he pounded hard against her, filling her with greater and greater pleasure with each successive abandonment and possession, until she could hold no more, and shattered… sobbing with the pleasure of it._

Her cry woke her as she arched her back as the climax took her. Her eyes flashed open and, momentarily, she was wild with terror, expecting at any moment Todd would roll her over once more to her back, as he had done, and plunder her sweetness with the heated lapping of breath and tongue, a moon to the tides of her pleasure until she gave up greater cries of need.

Aching with the remembrance of it, trembling as if caught in the moment, Keller threw back the soaked covers and struggling, dragged herself from the bed. The movement brought a rush of nausea and she gagged and swallowed hard.

She tasted blood and nausea became fear, and fear turned to panic as, moving, a stab of agony replaced the tingling pleasure as she tried to move her legs and found the movement of her hips so fluid and unfixed that they collapsed beneath her, spilling her to the floor of her quarters.

She lay there for a moment, sobbing, and swallowing down more blood, and gagged again. She coughed into her hand and it came away from her lips reddened with the evidence of her distress.

Unable to rise, she forced uncooperative limbs to haul her, crawling on all fours to the table on which she knew she'd laid her headset before she went to bed, practically pulling the table on top of her as she tried to reach it.

Still retching against the taste of blood, her hand trembling, she fit the radio into place, and keyed the mic, hardly able to speak for the sobs.

"Beckett… this… this is Keller… Help me… please, I—"

Her strength failed then and she fell forward to land hard against her shoulder. The last thing she remembered was the sound of the city wide comm. sounding the alarm, and Chuck's calm voice announcing:

"_Medical emergency. Doctor Beckett, report to personnel quarters. Repeat: medical emergency, personnel quarters._"


	4. Act 4

Stargate Atlantis

Apostasy

To Change a Heart, Understand It

Act 4

Teyla fought the weariness that threatened to cement her feet to the organic floor of the Hive; to break the wall of denial she had built around her pain to prevent the burning of it filtering along the mental bond she felt as a tangible presence, brushing now and then against her resolve.

She did not fear that the rebuff would alert him to the fact that there was anything wrong. He would expect such a rejection of contact, given the orders he had just issued, no matter how much she might understand the necessity.

"The woman will see to your needs," Michael told her softly as they reached her chambers. "There is work I must attend to."

"Of course," she answered and even to herself sounded colder than she had intended.

"If there is anything you need—"

"I am fine," she told him. "I wish only to rest with my son."

She did not miss the brief flash, akin to pain, that passed across his eyes, before the curt nod he gave her tore his gaze away from hers, and tried to soften her countenance, adding, "Perhaps later we can…"

She trailed off. What? Any contact she had with Michael now would reveal the injury she was attempting to conceal from him. She had little doubt, still, that it would bring about reprisals against those that had willingly submitted themselves to his Cause were he to discover that she was hurt.

She swallowed, realising that he was looking at her curiously, his head tilted to one side, and could not prevent herself from flinching when, in the following moment, he reached out toward her cheek, barely grazing her skin with his fingertips.

"You need to rest," he told her, swallowing and looking away as he did. "Clearly you are tired."

"Yes," she admitted.

"Then I will not delay you further. Rest, and if you have need of anything you have only to—"

"I will ask," she interrupted. She did not understand why she did not wish for him to voice the means by which she could fulfil her needs, but it frightened her to think that he might tell her what she already knew – that she had only to reach for him. Swallowing again, she said, "Thank you."

With a nod of acceptance, he dismissed himself from attending on her, and walked quickly away along the corridor. She did not move until she could no longer hear his footsteps echoing back to her, making him still seem to be at her side.

**

Michael barely turned his head and did not at all slow his almost forced march as Rissek fell into step with him.

"Have they been inspected?" he asked without preamble.

"Testing is underway now, as is decontamination," his lieutenant answered. "Many of them are nervous – afraid."

"Of course they are," Michael took advantage of the pause in Rissek's report to ricochet the words from the side of the man's head, striding ahead and then turning to face him. Michael braced his arm against the wall of the Hive to cut off his underling's path, snarling slightly as he asked, "Are any of them infected?"

"None so far," Rissek answered, slightly breathless.

"Good," he growled softly. "Then we were in time. The settlement has been neutralised?"

"As per your instructions," Rissek confirmed. "The Headman's wife is in isolation. We've prepped her for your attention."

"I will come to her when _I_ am ready," he said, his voice clipped. "It is doubtful that the splice held. It does not seem to have in any of the others."

Rissek stepped back, an apologetic expression over the whole of him, not just his face.

"Your orders?"

"See to it that the neighbouring settlements are secure, and then set a course for our facility on the former Devien home world," Michael instructed, and for a moment he reached back along the bond, seeking Teyla.

**

"Madam!" Teyla flinched slightly as Midani's greeting reached her and immediately turned her eyes to the crib in which Nethaiye lay sleeping. Obviously following the direction of her gaze, Midani said, "He is resting peacefully."

"I told you," Teyla said, moving toward her son, still not trusting Midani in spite of the woman's previous revelation, "when we are alone, you must call me Teyla. I will not treat you as some kind of—"

Teyla was cut off by Midani's gasp of horror, and by the sudden rush of pain from her side as Midani moved the leather of her coat.

"What has ha—?"

"Do not!" she cried, and instinct had her lash out, catching the woman a glancing blow that sent her staggering backwards. Trembling guilt at her treatment of Midani, whom she knew sought only to help, hampered her efforts to steady her breathing and maintain the walls she had attempted to erect around the pain. "Forgive me, I—"

"You must allow me to tend you, Ma—Teyla," Midani said.

**

Michael's steps across the laboratory faltered as the ghost of discomfort that had been nagging at the edges of his psyche blossomed into a cry of pain, and snarling, he picked up his medical equipment and strode purposefully toward the door.

It did not take him long to retrace his steps to Teyla's quarters in the middle of the Hive, where he did not hesitate to enter without invitation, storming across to catch Midani's hand as she reached for Teyla's side.

"Leave us," he instructed firmly. "Take the child with you."

"Michael, no!" Teyla tried to move past him, but was too slow as, releasing Midani to do his bidding, he caught Teyla around the waist. Instead of fighting him, she barely struggled, and pressed both hands, one bloodied, against his chest and gasped softly, "Please…"

She let out a cry as his hand closed, vice-like, around her wrist and turned her from view of the serving woman he had assigned to her lifting the child from the crib to carry him out. He ignored the whisper of his name as it came again from Teyla's lips in an appeal for clemency as the door closed behind Midani.

"Why?" he snarled angrily, "Why did you try to keep this from me?"

"What good would it have served you knowing?" she spat, pushing at him now that they were alone.

"This wound must be tended," he countered. "Should _already_ have been – what did you expect—?"

"What would you have done to those people?" she demanded, beginning to struggle with him.

"No more, or less than I have already done," he all but roared. "Each person's actions commands their own future. When will you stop seeing me as the enemy?"

"When you stop _behaving_ like it!" she cried, finally managing to pull out of his grasp. Unbalanced she stumbled away, barely preventing herself from falling and backed up as he advanced on her. "Those people, you offered them false mercy – little better than an ultimatum – join you, or die. _That_ is the truth of what you offered. How many did you leave behind? How many did you _neutralise?_"

"You do not understand," he began, but she shook her head, not allowing him time to finish as she interrupted.

"I understand that you ordered them killed. You—"

"They were already dead!" He caught her by the arms as she wavered, stubbornly trying to remain strong in spite of her injury and the obvious loss of blood. "The Wraith they served would not have allowed them to live."

"Because _you_ infected them with the Hoffan drug," she accused, looking up into his eyes. His own flashed frustration as they met hers. Why couldn't she see the truth that was before her? Had she really become so tainted by her Atlantean friends that she could no longer read him, understand his intent?

"When will you _think_, Teyla!" he snapped, shaking her slightly. She cried out, and reflexively he drew her closer, his arms sliding from her biceps to encircle her; hold her against him in protection from himself. "When will you stop allowing yourself to be an Atlantean puppet and think like the _leader_ that you are?"

She pushed against him, rejecting the embrace even as her eyes pleaded for explanation.

"Do not think that just because of what we have shared, you can do as you please," she growled. "You cannot deny what you have done. You. Released. The Hoffan protein upon the unsuspecting people of this galaxy. An opening salvo, you called it."

"And where does it benefit my Cause if all of those people I would turn against the Wraith sicken and die?" he demanded, trying to make her see, to work out that the mortality rate of the drug was never his intent, just as Beckett had led him to understand that it was not that of the people of Hoff.

"So that only those that are strong will remain and—"

"Listen to yourself!" he cried. "These are not your words, but the words of your Atlantean friends. They have poisoned your mind; prevent you from understanding. How can you not see?"

He let go of her then, turned and paced away before spreading his arms and turning back to her as he said, "How do you no longer understand my actions?"

"Then _show _me. _Tell_ me," and there was such a note of appeal in her voice that for a moment his frustration faded and softening, he began to speak.

"After it became clear that my earlier attempts to build an army against the Wraith were doomed to failure because of the… crudeness of their nature I began searching for another way, refining my experiments until I could genetically engineer the hybrids you have come to know, but even then it was not enough. Though they were stronger than any human, they still lacked a viable defence against Wraith feeding.

"Searching for new subjects, new recruits for my Cause I stumbled upon a pocket of those people that had survived the initial plague on Hoff. Blood work revealed their deadly nature, to me, as well as to the Wraith, but it began a line of thought I had not previously considered as a defence for my hybrids against my former Wraith brethren.

"Many died. Even though I returned to Hoff and collected all of the research that the Wraith had failed to destroy in their vengeance against the Hoffans – followed it faithfully – I was unable to prevent my formula from breaking down, even when I used samples taken from the survivors, the result was the same - catastrophic breakdown of the molecular structure of the formula resulting in the death of the subject. I was ready to abandon the idea, when one of the Hoffan people mentioned a certain… Atlantean doctor that had assisted in refining the original drug."

"Doctor Beckett," Teyla confirmed.

"My goal was not to cause suffering among the people of the Pegasus galaxy, Teyla. My intention was to weaken the Wraith. Their Queens' narrow minded arrogance and rigid adherence to genetically apocryphal redundancies marked them as a species already headed for extinction. I sought merely to… hasten the process."

"But so many dead and suffering, Michael. Doctor Beckett had to have warned you – the Hoffans' own research—"

"I believed that I could… eliminate the danger. Refine the drug so that it would be undetectable and completely without symptom… and over time I have come close."

"Then why did you not _wait_?" she implored him.

"Do you think the Wraith would wait to eliminate a growing threat they perceived against them?" he asked, tilting his head in curiosity.

Teyla closed her eyes, breathing out slowly, sorrowfully, lowering her head. He felt the shift in her, her resignation to the verity of his words.

"You had no other choice than to release the drug into the worlds of this galaxy," she said softly, "or face destruction at the hands of the Wraith."

"Even then it was only select worlds, to protect the operation of my campaign against them, and Doctor Beckett and I had been able to improve the protein; reduce the mortality rate."

"Michael…"

His name on her lips was little more than a sigh, but she reached for him, swaying slightly as she did. Her hand trembled, and the blood still staining her fingers refocused his attention on the urgent need to tend to her wound.

He came to her, gently stripping away the heavy leather of her coat before slipping an arm carefully around her back to lead her to the bed. As he eased her to sit down, he said softly, "Do not ever attempt to keep such a thing from me again, Teyla."

**

"I sought only to protect those people," Teyla whispered, gripping his arm, no longer needing to conceal her pain from Michael. She closed her eyes against the hurt that flashed through his.

"They were never in need of your protection," he told her, voicing it in the thick tone of her voice, "save for a few that had proved themselves to be… little better than the Wraith."

"I… underestimated you," she admitted, opening her eyes as he began to carefully lift the lower edge of her shirt, his eyes running over the knife wound and narrowing in concern.

"You did," he said softly. "And you have paid for your mistake. I will need you to remove your clothing and lie down so that I may treat this."

She nodded, and swallowed as a sudden flush of nervousness assaulted her. He offered his hand to her, his right, and she could not help but caress the centre of it, smooth and warm beneath her fingertips. His breath caught, softly, but she did not miss the hitch before he closed his fingers around hers and gently drew her to her feet. He did not let go until she was steady, and then turned away even as she turned her back to him.

"It was not an… easy transformation," he said quietly as he began to move and as she slipped out of her skirt, letting the bloodied ruin of it fall to the floor by her ankles she followed the sound of his movements as well as his voice – the footsteps that took him only a little way from her, followed by the sound of catches being snapped open; the medkit he had carried. He sounded tired, and she could not help but wonder how much rest he had allowed himself since their escape from the Elder Hive – indeed how much rest he had enjoyed in all the time of which he now spoke.

"The first time I performed the manipulation necessary to remove the necessity for feeding in myself, I misaligned the genetic coding and caused massive cellular damage, almost akin to a cancer in Humans, that took months to repair and constant medication to maintain my health."

Then she heard fabric unfold, and his footsteps again before she felt the warmth of him at her back.

"It was a stupid mistake," he concluded, his voice more clipped, and sensing the change in him she unfastened her shirt and began to reach, meaning to lift it over her head. "One that I did not and _will_ not repeat."

As she lifted her arms to remove her shirt, a ripple of increased pain squeezed a gasp from her lungs, and biting her lip she told him, "Michael, you may have to help me."

The warmth of his hand settled briefly against the small of her back, before he carefully manipulated the shirt off over her head without the necessity of her raising her arms more than a little.

"Lie down," he told her, but even as he spoke, his fingers closed around her upper arm to guide her almost tenderly to lie, part on her belly, and part on her side with the wound uppermost, on a sheet he had spread out on the top of the bed. As she settled, he covered her with two others, and feeling less exposed, she began to relax as much as her pain would allow.

**

Isla's chest burned where the Wraith had fed and her face stung from the lashes and scratches of pushing hurriedly through the dense vegetation in the underbrush. Though her blow had rendered the already injured Wraith unconscious, she doubted he would remain that way for long, and sought to push as much distance between them as she could before he woke to come after her.

For the first time in as long as she could remember, she wished that she had conscious control over her ability to sometimes sense her commander and his thoughts; to send her own to him. She could feel his agitation, and knew, therefore, that he lived, but beyond that… nothing.

Blindly, fighting the sobs rising in her chest, she scrambled on.

**

Sheppard slid to a halt in the open doorway of Keller's quarters, arriving only marginally after Beckett and the medical team.

"What the hell?" he gasped, unable to prevent the exclamation from escaping him as he watched the orderlies desperately trying to support Keller as her body trembled with what looked like some kind of seizure.

"I'm sorry, Colonel," Beckett said, almost without looking up, "I can't answer your questions right now. I'm going to have to ask you to not to get in the way."

As if to underline what the doctor was saying, a voice from behind called, "Coming through," as another pair of orderlies wheeled a gurney rapidly toward the scene of the medical emergency.

He swallowed hard as Keller became suddenly still, whatever seizure she was having at an end, and he could almost hear her rasping breath faltering even as Beckett put the stethoscope to her chest.

"Right, let's get her up," Beckett said as he moved back. "Any luck with getting that line in, Marie?"

"Sorry, Doctor Beckett, as fast as I—"

"Her pressure's dropping!"

"Damn it, Jennifer!" Beckett's voice rang with desperation, and Sheppard bit his lip, the doctor's obvious fear contagious. "All right, on my count…"

Sheppard filtered out the back and forth of the urgent medics – much of which he didn't understand, focussing instead on trying to make sense of everything else.

She was sick; he got that – the evidence for that was staring him in the face. It had started some time after they got back from Todd's Hive and Beckett was keeping unusually tight-lipped about it… aside from with McKay… McKay knew something – he wasn't saying either.

Maybe he could beat it out of the scientist. Maybe he—

"Stand aside, please," Beckett's urgent voice broke through his bitterly angry thoughts. "Coming through!"

"Carson," he started.

"Not now, Colonel," the doctor answered. "I'm sorry, I really must get her to the infirmary."

Sheppard nodded, and moved even further away from the gurney bearing the too still, sallow figure of Doctor Keller.

"Keep me posted," he said, lacking conviction as he called after the already retreating backs of the medical team, Carson among them.

First Teyla, now Jennifer – and with Ronon missing, just to compound what they had suffered because of Todd and the Wraith… and Michael…

_How does it feel, Colonel Sheppard…?_

Growling in hurt, hot anger he lashed out at the nearby wall; shattered a panel with his fist, and then spun away to go and find McKay. Someone was going to tell him what was going on.

**

Hanna scratched ineffectually at his wrist, panicking as his sharp talons pierced the skin of her throat at each side, cutting off her airway in an assault of pain as he dragged her closer, her feet barely touching the floor of the home he had claimed as his quarters.

"Please…" she rasped, barely able to make herself heard. "It is not my fault. I did as you said, just… he was there!"

"And you failed to keep your solicitous mouth shut!" he snarled, pushing at her mentally, showing her that he knew what she had tried to do.

_She fell at his feet, clasping the leather of his pants as she did; a supplicant gesture. Slowly he lowered himself to his knees and closed his hands around her arms, in support, as she climbed her way upward over his body. He allowed her increasingly fervent touches over his neck and shoulders… even onto his face._

_"Mercy… yes, Lord… mercy, please," she whispered with each touch, as she took his face between her hands and cradled him there for a moment, her cheek to his, her whispers in his ear. He wound his arms around her back, moved one upward into the spill of her hair._

"I… was… afraid…!" she half sobbed, half screeched hoarsely. "Please… I had no… choice."

"You answer to _me_!" he roared in her face, even as he released the grasp on her throat.

Almost numb with fear she staggered backwards before her legs folded beneath her like wet paper, unable to hold her up.

"Yes," she wept. "Yes, my Lord, to you and only you."

She did not even try to stop the blood that ran from the gashes his talons had made in her soft flesh. Trembling on her knees before him, she tore at the front of her dress, baring herself to him; breasts peaked with emotion as she offered herself to him.

Growling he drew back his feeding hand, and she closed her eyes, in part relieved that at last she would see her end, but the harsh bite did not come, instead she gasped with emotions of another kind as the sharpness of his talons ran over the hard nubs fear had made of her nipples.

"Perhaps there is yet one _other_ thing you can do for me," he rumbled, the edge of anger still sounding in his voice, but muted now as if in thought.

"Name it, my Lord," she whispered, opening her eyes and looking into the burning amber-gold of his. "I will do—"

"Anything… yes," he murmured softly. "And to do this thing… you must beg forgiveness… of the Queen."

Hanna swallowed, what little resolve she still possessed draining away with the blood that ran from the cuts on her throat to branch like roots over her chest… or the tendrils of the Hive organism that would have taken her – taken them all – if she had followed through with the commander's plan.

**

Floating… weightless, Teyla allowed the hot deep water of the bathing pool to soothe the remaining ache in her side. The wound had, at least in part, healed, but Michael had warned that the muscle would likely take some time to knit after a wound of that kind, and the healing gel he had applied would be only of limited assistance.

The peace they had reached was a fragile one as the hurt of myriad rejections, and many assaults on compassionate sensibilities stood between them still, but there was the beginning of an equilibrium forming, an understanding of their different similitude that she had before refused to accept. Teyla closed her eyes and breathed out a long, slow breath. It was an entirely difficult situation, her feelings for him, and Michael himself such a dichotomy.

_"There," he said softly, beginning to move his hands away from her side. "It is done. You will need to rest."_

_"Michael," she half turned, in spite of the added sting it brought her, and caught a hold of his hand just as he moved to rise. He froze, tilting his head to look first at her hand on his, then up to her face. "I wanted to apologise."_

_A frown creased his face and she felt his confusion._

_"There is nothing that you have done. Keeping this wound from me, I understand. You feared what reprisals would be visited on the people of that world from the actions of few. I supposed I deserve that," he nodded as if in agreement with himself, his head still slightly tilted, "given our… history together."_

_She shook her head and said, "You have shown me nothing but…honesty and I—"_

_"You were left with little choice to act as you did, as was I," he interrupted, "We are both products of circumstance, and the actions of others who do not know, or care, what they have done. It's ironic…"_

_He trailed off, obviously deep in thoughts that she could not, for the most part, access. Nor did she understand those that she could feel._

_"What do you mean?" she asked when he had not spoken for several moments._

_As she spoke, he blinked, his golden eyes clearing of the distance of thought, and he straightened, becoming once more businesslike and freed himself from the touch she still had on his hand. She knew she would receive no answers._

_"Rest," he told her, standing. "I will instruct the woman to return with your son when you have slept."_

The shrill cry filtered through to her and she woke disoriented for a moment. Her heart raced as she identified the sound as that of her son's cry. He needed attention – where was Midani?

Climbing out of the pool as quickly as she could, she wrapped herself in the long robe, folding its softness around her tightly so that it would absorb the moisture that still clung to her, and padded barefoot toward the door leading back into her quarters.

By the time she had reached the doorway, Nethaiye had stopped crying, and she paused assuming that Midani had reached him. Teyla froze as the door opened.

Michael had Nethaiye cradled against his shoulder, his hand, obviously gentle, ran up and down the boy's back to soothe him. The baby was partly undressed, and nearby was the discarded, soiled breech-cloth.

"Be easy, little one," Michael said softly, his face turned toward Nethaiye, who gripped his shoulder with his tiny hand. "All is well… we are together again now."

Teyla's heart paused in rhythm; the tenderness she felt through the bond sweeping through her like a spring breeze, flower scented and renewing. She felt her own feelings of a kind of tenderness toward Michael bolstered by his obvious and genuine concern for her son… she closed her eyes for a moment… his son too – by his words – if not by the manner of his conception, then by their shared genes.

As Nethaiye relaxed, Michael returned with him to the bed, where the rest of his clothing, little more than a simple single piece garment, lay waiting, and with infinite care dressed him, before he picked him up once more. All the time his eyes remained focussed on those of the child, and shone with a softness that Teyla had rarely seen.

"You are very good with him," she said quietly as Michael picked up her son.

A faintly ironic smile spread over Michael's now lowered face. He tilted his head sideways to regard her as he turned her way and said, "He needs his mother."

"His mother is here," she answered, and walked toward Michael, reaching up to stroke Nethaiye's hair softly.

_-but will she stay?-_

"How do you feel?" he asked aloud. "The wound—"

"Is mostly healed, Michael," she said, accepting the baby from his arms as he handed the boy to her. "Only a little tenderness remains."

"Good," he said, nodding, and turned to walk at her side as she moved to return Nethaiye to the crib. He was almost soundly asleep. "I came to inform you that we will soon be leaving hyperspace – arriving at one of our facilities."

"Where is this?" she asked. She did not expect an answer.

"Formerly the planet was home to the Devian people," Michael told her.

"Now?" she asked him, turning her head to look at him, and she knew he had seen the haunted, frightened look in her eyes. She did not wish to hear him tell her that he had decimated the settlement there in favour of his Cause.

"Another world laid waste… The Devians were killed by the Wraith for their defiance. It was unfortunate – there was much we could have offered one another."

**

The pull of his mind led her onward, even though the woodland through which she was fighting her way over hill and rise, and stumbling through troughs was falling toward dusk. Every sound: every moaning branch; each rustle of desiccated leaves; near and distant cracks of fallen twigs forced her exhausted limbs to move her onward toward her goal, towards safety.

Isla had long since exchanged the near paralysing fear that the injured Wraith she had left at the downed transport ship would find her, overpower her and feast on the healing she could give to him in favour of a more worldly fear of other, unknown predators following her ill concealed tracks. Yet even with the sounds she heard, though they added to her fear and spurring her on, she detected no immediate pursuing presence.

The biggest danger to her now was the failing light as dusk came on fast and thick. The terrain beneath the trees was uneven at best, and there were many hillocks leading to unexpected drops, the base of which were lined with fallen trees wielding jagged wooden blades to catch the unwary or the mere unfortunate. Were she to stumble against any of these obstacles it could easily mean the end of her journey, perhaps in a long, slow and lingering death at the behest of a broken bone or torn and twisted muscle.

Isla paused at the foot of one such steep rise which she hoped would lead to a plateau, and not another drop to negotiate as the last had done. She doubted that her exhaustion would allow her that luxury. Doggedly, and with a deep breath, she started up the rise, pulling herself along on the protruding loops of roots, and tangling vines; using the same for footholds in the crumbling, loamy soil.

Her foot slipped, and she began to progress backwards at a greater rate than she should have, a vine or root, or some hindrance wrapping itself around her ankle… she reached down, keeping her other hand wrapped around the narrow branch of a low shrub, to try and free herself.

It was no grasping vegetation that met her touch, but cold hard flesh. Isla screamed as bloodshot amber eyes drilled through her as she turned her head to see what her fingers already knew. At the panicked sound, the Wraith snarled and began to pull harder, drawing her closer and abandoning her attempt to free her ankle, Isla grasped another root with her flailing hand and kicked with her other foot, trying to find the Wraith's face. She'd come too far in her journey to fail now.

It was a fight she couldn't hope to win against the Wraith's superior strength. He pulled, her hands slipped painfully from their desperate grasp and she tumbled down the steep slope, wrenching her nails in the dirt all the way.

"No!" she hissed.

As she hit the bottom, and the Wraith reached down for her, she kicked and scratched; the perfect impression of a cornered rat, desperation driving her primal, snarling fight.

"You will pay for your defiance," the injured Wraith raised his armoured hand, the back of it toward her face. If the blow connected it would knock her senseless and all would be lost.

She felt around desperately, her fingers scraping against a rock, fallen from the slope at the foot of which they fought. Its sharpness cut her fingers, but heedless she pulled it from its leafy bed and with all her strength hurled it toward the Wraith.

He diverted the blow he meant to give her to block the incoming projectile, and howled as the sharp edges drew lacerations over the back of his arm. Isla took full advantage of the distraction and turned to scramble away, all four limbs scrabbling at the dirt to propel her upward on the rise, the loosened soil falling down into the Wraith's snarling face. She had to get away.

One second, two… then three and another of freedom; higher she climbed, hearing him beginning his own ascent… his heavy boots like the voice of some angered titan as he set each one deliberately into the loose earth. He was taking his time. Did he know she had no place to run?

She was almost at the lip of the rise when the talons came down, cutting deep scratches along the length of her back. She cried out, and twisted aside, intensifying the pain as she opened the scrapes his claws had made.

"Don't touch me!" she cried, then as he grasped her thigh to pull himself closer to her, added, "Let me GO!"

Almost over her, the Wraith mantled, drawing back his feeding hand, ready to slam it against her heaving chest. The moment between life and death hung heavy over Isla. Myriad thoughts and regrets and fears commingling into a single remembered command:

_::survive::_

As if guided by providence, Isla's bend knee came up off the dirt at her back and caught the Wraith a heavy blow that made him draw away, snarling with the pain of it. His hand still mantled back behind his head as he pulled back; his balance was fragile and failing. Isla bent both legs toward her belly and kicked out hard, connecting with the staggering Wraith's chest, tipping the balance and sending him tumbling backwards, growling… away.

Isla braced herself, ready to turn and continue her desperate scramble for the top of the slope. The snarling of the Wraith ceased abruptly in a sickening wet squelch. The lack of noise became as terrifying as the fight had been, and breathing hard, Isla grasped a root to tether herself to the spot, and sat up, cautiously, to peek downward.

The Wraith lay still, his eyes open, staring… unseeing, and from his chest the dark blood dripping from its jagged, barbed edges, the broken branch stood, pointing toward the now almost purple sky.

_::survive::_

Isla put back her head, and keened.

**

Anger lent his steps punch as he strode into the lab and looked around for McKay. He spotted the man, as usual hunched over a computer console, and without preamble Sheppard stormed over to the man and grasped his shoulder, spinning him around.

"Sheppard," McKay spluttered in surprise, "Wha—"

"All right, McKay, enough dickin' around. What's going on?" he demanded.

"What do you mean?" McKay yelped, wriggling to free himself from Sheppard's grasp.

"Todd," Sheppard spat. "Keller!"

"Ah," McKay slumped in his grasp, as if the words, so vehemently spoken had taken all the fight from him, "that."

"So?"

"Look, Sheppard," McKay said, "it really isn't my place to be—"

"You tell me, McKay," Sheppard's voice cracked, and squeaked with the stress of everything. "I'm sick of people keeping things from me! You tell me or so help me, I'll—"

"Colonel Sheppard…"

From behind him, Woolsey's voice poured oil onto the already burning fire of his temper and, releasing McKay, Sheppard spun around to face the objectionable little man, further irritated to see Caldwell at Woolsey's back.

"Don't 'Colonel Sheppard' me," he growled. "Ever since we got back people have been… treading around me, soft shoes and I've had enough. Someone is going to tell me what's going on!"

"Just who are you angry with, Sheppard," Caldwell asked astutely. "Us or them?"

"And which _them_," Woolsey added, making Sheppard want to punch the both of them into the middle of the next week. His blood raced around his body and his breathing quickened. They were mocking him; had to be.

"Seems like everyone around here knows something," he said sarcastically, "and doesn't give a fuck about Teyla, or Keller, or—"

"John, that's not true," McKay's soft voice failed to halt his bitter diatribe.

"—anything that's happened. Ronon's gone – bluffed his way offworld with Charlie team and—"

"I'm well aware of Ronon's actions, Colonel," Woolsey said smoothly and in spite of the tension Sheppard could clearly see in him. "The point is, _you_ have to decide what you intend to do. One minute you're swearing revenge against the Wraith, the next you're determined to pursue what's left of Michael's organisation – or maybe you plan on going after Todd. Just who do you think _is_ to blame for Teyla's death?"

Before he knew what he was doing, Sheppard reached out and grabbed Woolsey by the front of his Atlantis issue jacket, twisting the fabric into his hand as a better purchase with which to draw the man closer. Caldwell's hand closed around his wrist.

"Sheppard," Caldwell said, "all he's saying is that you need to make a choice. Daedalus is up and ready to go, but I'm not taking my ship out there without a clear rationale… a clear _target_…"

"And frankly, going after an unknown—" Woolsey began.

"None of them are unknown," Sheppard snarled, not letting go in spite of Caldwell's steady backward pressure on his arm.

"You have no _clue_ what's out there should you choose to pit yourself against the Wraith from whom you tried to rescue Michael," Woolsey countered.

"It was _never_ intended as a rescue!"

_How does it feel…?_

Growling in frustration, and finally letting go of Woolsey; pulling his arm out of Caldwell's grasp, Sheppard turned and stalked away, running both hands into his hair, fingers spread.

"Even so, you can't deny, Sheppard," Caldwell said firmly, "that going after what's left of his people is treading a fine line between reprisal and insanity."

Sheppard let his hands fall and pointed at Caldwell. "And they still have Teyla's son."

"And you do him no good going off half cocked," Woolsey said. "John—"

"No," Sheppard said, "Don't try that."

"—I understand you're grieving, but I need you to focus. _Atlantis_ needs you to focus," the expedition leader continued regardless. "It does morale no good seeing you like this. Either you need to pull yourself together or—"

"I _am_ together!" Sheppard's voice rose to a near bellow. "What I _need _is for people to start levelling with me."

His frustration nearly overflowing Sheppard looked in appeal toward McKay.

"You're already blaming Todd for Teyla's death," McKay told him, the look of pain in the scientist's eyes as he spoke of Teyla almost overwhelmed Sheppard with its transference of sorrow. He took a deep breath and forced himself to listen. "What difference would it make to the way you feel even if I _did_ tell you what I suspect happened with Jennifer?"

"It… I…" Sheppard began, and then sighing said, "I just need to know."

"Trust me," McKay said glumly, looking away from the look Sheppard fixed him with. "You don't."

Woolsey sighed, and before Sheppard could speak, asked, "Do you truly hold Todd and his Wraith responsible for causing Teyla's death, Colonel?"

Taking a deep breath, Sheppard nodded.

"Then find him – find Todd and his Wraith faction – and you'll find answers to the rest I'm sure, because right now, we haven't the resources to spare to pursue all three paths," Woolsey said, not quite an order, Sheppard thought, but close enough.

**

Rodney leaned his forehead against the glass separating the observation lounge from the isolation room, and clenched his fists against the slight lip where the glass met the lower wall. His knuckles were white as Jennifer's voice sounded, shrill and breathless over the intercom as she writhed and twisted – restrained on the bed below.

"_Convergence… divergence… lost… corrupt!_"

She cried out, as though a wave of pain had overtaken her and her back lifted from the mattress. Her pale flesh caught the glow of the overhead lights and reflected it almost luminously back up toward McKay. Her fingers clawed at the sheet, leaving bloodied streaks where her nails had lifted, and broken, and torn, and then her strange litany began again.

McKay reached over thumbing the button to activate his side of the intercom. He saw Beckett pause in scurrying around Keller amid his medical team. The doctor looked up.

"For God's sake, Carson, can't you… sedate her or something?" he asked, his voice mirroring Keller's physical pain in the emotion it held.

"_I'm sorry, Rodney,_" Carson answered, his voice low. "_This _is_ sedated. I daren't administer any more drugs until we know what we're dealing with._"

Jennifer's cry interrupted them, and Carson returned his attention to her, while McKay resumed leaning desolately against the glass, and as much as he wanted to close his eyes and shut out the sight of the stricken woman, some frightened, morbid curiosity made him keep watching.

**

The quiet rumble of the trolley on which the med-techs had brought the scanner drew Beckett from his frantic analysis of the readings on Keller's monitors, and he moved aside so that they could wheel it into place.

"All right, all non essential personnel out," he ordered. "Marie, will you check on the status of that blood-work if you please."

"Yes, Doctor," she said quietly, and squeezed his arm before hurrying away.

"Doctor Beckett," one of the orderlies called softly, "Do you need us to—"

"I can manage, lad," he said automatically. He wanted to clear the room; was afraid of what he might see when he started the scan, and wanted to ensure that as few people were privy to the information as possible, unless he absolutely _had_ to tell anyone.

Jennifer gave another cry and began her breathless chant once more, making him turn to hurry the others out, and pull the overhead arm of the scanner into place.

"Convergence… divergence…"

"Easy now, Jennifer," he said softly.

"…lost… corru—!"

"You won't feel a thi—"

He spoke over her, and almost yelped when she slipped one of the restraints and lashed out a bloodied hand to catch his wrist.

"Car-son…" she broke from the litany, looking up at him in desperate confusion. "He… knows. He… knows… He—"

"Rodney?" he asked, frowning. Keller managed to shake her head. "Todd?"

Again Keller shook her head.

"Then who, love… who knows…?" he asked, his own confusion beginning to prickle with the frightening edge of suspicion. She couldn't answer. Another spasm of pain wracked her body and she cried out before lapsing into the same chilling, repeating plea.

"Convergence… divergence— He knows! Lost… corrupt. Converg— Help me…!"

Carson's blood began to chill as it dawned on him just what she was, most likely, asking. With false calm, he forced himself to begin the scan.

**

Jethera watched as the Queen toyed with the woman on her knees before her. Formerly one of the senior handmaidens, and known among the worshippers to be the Commander's whore – though none would speak the open secret within hearing of the Queen – Jethera knew Hanna had been dishonoured for the part she had played in the entire fiasco that had eventually led to the destruction of the Hive. Her life had been spared only because she could not, as servant to the Wraith, disobey a direct command, and spared a flogging only by circumstance, she now pleaded her obedience to and love for the Queen.

"…no matter what price I demand, and submit yourself to my mercies?" the Queen hissed, the sarcasm heavy in her voice.

"Anything, my Queen," Hanna sobbed, and Jethera could not help the contemptuous bile that rose in her at the woman's performance.

This was what she had been set to watch for, she realised, and also knew that she would be called upon to share exactly what had happened with the Hive Second. The prospect was not one that warmed her.

The Queen shifted, a prelude to speech that was interrupted as the door burst inward and the Hive Third swept into the room, dipping himself into a sweeping low bow before coming to a halt with one knee almost, but not quite, touching the floor.

"My Queen," he spoke fervently, almost excited. "The cruisers you have recalled have entered orbit. Their commanders—"

"And where is _my_ commander?" the Queen demanded, her focus shifted in an instant, her game with the other woman forgotten.

"Communing with the growing Hive consciousness… that he may better serve the Hive," the Third answered, and Jethera thought she detected almost a hint of amusement in the Wraith male's voice.

"And my Second?" the Queen growled harshly.

"I am here, my Queen."

Jethera turned her head toward the smooth soft voice of the imposing Wraith as he seemed merely to step from the shadows in the corner of the room. She blinked in surprise. She had not known he was there.

The Queen tilted her head toward the Hive Second.

"Gather the commanders of the cruisers," she told him. "I would address them myself."

"As you wish, my Queen," he gave a low bow, and swept past the other startled looking Wraith to carry out her command.

**

"And you're certain you'll be able to pick up the trail once we exit hyperspace?" Caldwell asked, eyeing McKay, Sheppard thought, with more than a healthy dose of scepticism.

"Yes," McKay said in his characteristically irritable tone of voice. "I've recalibrated the sensors so that once we exit hyperspace they'll be able to pick up the specific bio-resonance of the Hive that made the attack, and then we'll be able to use telemetry from the relay stations around the Pegasus galaxy to pinpoint the whereabouts of that specific Hive from—"

He broke off, and Sheppard glanced at Caldwell, to see what had caused the otherwise overly verbose physicist to come to a screeching halt mere seconds before the persistent man began his explanation anew.

"Look," McKay said, "We discovered quite early on that each individual Hive has its own particular bio-signature, traces of which can still be detected in—"

"Colonel Caldwell?" Marks appeared at Caldwell's shoulder, carrying a small tablet computer, looking at it intently even as he spoke.

Sheppard frowned as Caldwell, focussed on listening to the explanation McKay was giving, dismissed the Major almost out of hand. A warning shiver passed down Sheppard's spine.

"Not now, Major," Caldwell said.

"—space even days after a visitation by the Wraith Hive. We've not been able to come up with the specific reason why, though we suspect it has something to do with the organic nature of the ships, perhaps stripped away in the thruster-burns but—"

"I'm sorry, Sir, but this is important," Marks was insistent, for which Sheppard was grateful a moment later when Caldwell nodded at him to give his report. "Long range detectors have pinpointed several Wraith ships in orbit around a planet at our target coordinates. We'll be on them in moments, Sir."

"What! Let's see it. Heads up!" Caldwell turned, and with Sheppard sticking close by, took the command chair. Sheppard leaned on the back of it, peering at the HUD that materialised in the middle of the Bridge's foredeck and through which a rather bewildered looking McKay stood deserted, his mouth still hanging open mid-sentence.

Sheppard swallowed hard as he counted at least a half dozen Wraith ships in orbit of one of the planets in the system that _Daedalus_ was hurtling toward at faster-than-light speeds.

"Oh crap," he breathed.

"Not quite my sentiments, but close enough," Caldwell said, and then ordered, "Take us out of hyperspace, Major Marks. No sense in us walking into that mess."

"No, wait!" Sheppard put a hand on Caldwell's arm. "This is the only chance we've got to find the son-of-a-bitch, Steven. If we come out now we're way too far away for McKay's modifications to be effective. We need to be—"

"Colonel Sheppard, in case you hadn't noticed, _Daedalus_ is in no fit state for a full on battle against a half a dozen Wraith ships. She's barely flying as it is." Caldwell protested.

"And McKay's people are working on that," Sheppard answered. "Look, I'm not suggesting that we wade on in, guns blazing. If we came out on the edge of the system, used the other planets to mask our presence, McKay could get his scans and—"

Caldwell appeared to consider this, and then nodded.

"You better hope they don't spot us, Sheppard, because if they do, I'm not sticking around to let us get blown out of existence, Todd or no Todd," he said.

"Aren't you in the slightest bit curious," McKay piped up suddenly, looking at them through the HUD, "why all those Wraith are gathered here in the first place?"

**

The six Wraith commanders were on their knees and did not even seek to rise when the conference began, and they were called upon to give their reports before the Queen and her two highest commanders.

"And you are certain of this?" she hissed, leaning down to pin the leftmost commander to the spot with a withering stare.

"Quite certain, my Queen," he said. "The Humans we took from the scant settlement on a nearby world spoke of it most… cooperatively."

"They spoke of repeated visits by its hybrid creatures for supplies… strange requests," another said, daring to look up. The Hive Second hissed at him and even Hanna took a step back and away from her place behind the Queen.

She had not forgotten her encounter with him, nor the questions, and the terror he had brought to her and had no desire to encounter his wrath again, even if it were not directed at her. She glanced to the side, to find the other handmaiden watching her with barely concealed contempt.

"Strange requests?" the Queen turns away from the kneeling commanders, a frown on her face, holding up her hands that she might be supported on her ascent of the less than stable stairway to the hastily erected dais. The Hive commander moved to escort her to her throne, while the Second put himself between the Queen's turned back and her cruiser commanders.

"Minerals, metals… other elements," the first commander spoke again.

As Hanna climbed the steps to wait on the Queen as she sat to listen to the rest of the report, she watched the Elder Wraith's eyes narrow in suspicion.

"We believe the creature's underlings may have been trying to build something."

"They would give us no _other_ information," a third commander joined the report, "preferring death."

"He commanded loyalty if nothing else," the Queen mused. She waved Hanna away when she attempted to offer the press of soothing fingers to the Elder. She stepped back and felt, as well as saw, the Queen retreat into a momentary but deep contemplation of all she had been told. Finally, her voice dripping sarcasm, she said, "Ship… the Renegade must have been attempting to build himself a Hive."

None of the commanders on their knees in the chamber spoke. It was the Second's smoothly triple toned voice that broke the ensuing silence.

"Indeed, my Queen, it seems most likely," he said. "After all, during our previous encounters, your forces did cause much damage to his scant fleet."

"And we will continue to do so," she snarled triumphantly. "The remnants of his rebel forces will be no match for our alliance."

"My Queen…" the Second began, but if the Queen even noticed he had spoken she did not acknowledge the tone which, Hanna thought, was one that counselled caution.

"Commanders," instead she addressed the commanders of the cruisers, "You will proceed to the location and investigate further. Whatever of his creatures you find – destroy them. I will join you as soon as the construction of my new flagship is complete."

The commanders rumbled their assent and one by one, rose cautiously to their feet and backed away, as if they did not realise that they had been dismissed.

**

"Bad idea," McKay chanted under his breath, "really, really bad idea…"

Sheppard ignored him and concentrated on piloting the Jumper carefully out from behind the planet shielding the _Daedalus_. He needed answers, and it wasn't enough any more simply to know where Todd had run to after destroying the Elder Hive. He wanted to know why there was a gathering of Wraith above the planet that was nearest to the location of the battle. He needed as many answers as he could get.

He'd known as soon as they'd come out of hyperspace and picked up the more accurate details on the ship's scanner that it was vitally important to understand what was going on so that they didn't walk into some kind of trap while pursuing Todd. At least… that was his excuse, and he wasn't going to change it for _anyone_.

He glanced over at McKay and saw that the other man was gripping the co-pilot's seat hard enough to turn his knuckles white, and figured he should probably say something, or he was going to have to listen to McKay's whining the whole trip and it was beginning to affect his concentration.

"You said," he started, reminding the scientist, "that you needed us to be closer if you were going to pick up any of their sub-space communications."

"Look," McKay snapped as he broke off from his near maniacal chanting, "just because I say I can do a thing, which of course is gonna happen pretty much all the time because there isn't much I _can't_ do, as a matter of fact, doesn't necessarily mean that it's a good idea or it should be done. In fact this is a bad idea… a very bad idea. Dangerous and—"

"McKay!" Sheppard called sharply and when the other man looked his way, added, "Get a grip." McKay glared at him and opened his mouth to fire some kind of sarcastic retort his way but Sheppard wasn't about to allow the scientist to get his verbal stride again and said, "This is no different to any other time we've done this. We're cloaked. We—"

"Oh, it's plenty different, believe me," McKay insisted, his fear making his voice even more shrill than usual. "There are four Wraith cruisers out there, hanging over a planet about which we know absolutely nothing. We have no idea what's waiting for us there and—"

"And we need to know in case whatever's going on down there has any bearing on what we might find when we catch up to Todd!" Sheppard's voice carried the weight of a punch that he knew should have finished the conversation – would have in any other situation and at any other time – but he didn't count on the sudden movement from the Wraith cruiser closest to the Jumper's approach trajectory.

McKay yelped, and Sheppard automatically banked the Jumper as the massive carapace turned ponderously toward them. Sheppard imagined he could almost hear the roar of the sub-light thrusters powering the massive craft as it began to move through the vacuum between them. At McKay's second yelp, he swore.

"They've seen us," McKay shrieked.

"They can't have," he assured him.

"They _must_ have," McKay argued. "Why else would they—"

"_Sheppard, this is _Daedalus. _The lead cruiser has opened a hyperspace window. If you're planning on capturing their ship to ship, you better do it now._"

"McKay," Sheppard growled even as Caldwell's voice urged swiftness of action.

"I'm on it," McKay said, and as if his fear were suddenly forgotten, the scientist threw himself out of his seat, and making frantic alterations, his computer tablet interfaced with the panels in the rear of the Jumper.

**

The single word echoed in her head until it was a maddening cacophony of compulsion. She stumbled on legs that were scratched, bleeding and exhausted, afraid to slow down, afraid to stop in case her crime should catch up to her and make of the command she followed a convenient excuse.

Isla stumbled, her knee grazing against a rough, rocky patch of ground as she immediately pushed herself back to her feet to continue her stumbling run in the direction from which the pull within her ached the most.

An image burned in her mind and stung her already reddened eyes… the damning sight of the Wraith sub-commander, impaled, and dripping his dark blood to wet the soil with the seeds of her betrayal.

**

"No," Sheppard argued, "The relevant point is that their comm. chatter says they _have_ him… pretty soon he'll be on the run and then—"

"They have his _people,_ Colonel," Caldwell corrected him. Sheppard nodded his acknowledgement as the commander of the _Daedalus _went on, "Michael's dead. The explosion on that Hive—"

"If he was ever there at all," McKay said, clearly sulking.

"Teyla was sure of it," Sheppard reminded him. "When it comes to sniffing out that rat-bastard, I trust her."

"So my question becomes, 'what's the point in changing our plans and going after Michael's people, when we could simply continue on to find Todd?' You said that was the best course of action." Caldwell said.

"But this is new Intel. It changes what's best. If we hit Michael's people while they're already cornered by the Wraith, we stand a far better chance of actually achieving our objective." Sheppard said.

"Which is?"

"She's been wrong before," McKay ventured before Sheppard could answer. His voice was a small sound in comparison with the two energised colonels'. Both men turned to look at him. He shifted uncomfortably and then in an irritated voice asked, "Did either of you even stop to consider what might be down on that planet those Wraith were orbiting; stop to think that it is easily within range of the battleground; that _survivors_ of that explosion might—"

"Nothing survived that explosion," Caldwell said. "The shockwave even took out the Darts that were trying to escape the blast and even as far out as _Daedalus_ crippled a number of major systems."

"I know, and I've been thinking about that; going over telemetry data and—"

"Nothing survived the explosion, McKay," Sheppard said firmly. "He was aboard that Hive when it blew, and Teyla was with him. Her last message said _we_—"

"All right, already!" McKay snapped, and Sheppard almost regretted speaking to the scientist in the way he had when he saw the expression on McKay's face. McKay wasn't done though. "But aren't you in the least bit worried about what _is_ down there… on that planet? You're so blinded by your absolute obsession with vengeance for Teyla that you can't see that _this_… what's going on here, and down on that planet could be the trap you're trying so hard to avoid!"

Sheppard sighed, looking down for a moment. It wasn't that he hadn't considered that the Wraith were there for a reason, and that whatever _was_ planet-side might pose some kind of danger, because he had. He'd thought about it a lot, but he also knew that time was running out, slipping away between their fingers and that if they left too much of a delay before they followed after the cruisers, any chance he'd have of pulling off the plan, still only partly formed in his head, would be lost.

Still, he took a deep breath, and answered aloud, "All right, McKay, point taken. Before we go anywhere, we'll take a cloaked Jumper down to see just what _is_ going on."

**

Following in Michael's wake, Teyla wrapped her arms around herself, not only to ward off the ambient cold, but also the deeper emotional chill that seemed to come from the ruins of the settlement itself.

The entire surrounding area in the lee of the mountain was a wasteland, left barren by the after-effects of the retribution the Wraith had visited upon the people that had once inhabited this place. Yet evidence of their presence still remained and as they drew closer to those few buildings left standing in the huddle of debris at the base of the looming slope, she thought she detected movement.

"Michael…" she warned softly.

He slowed his steps to draw level with her, and moved a breath closer, protective even as he said, "They will not harm us."

"Who are they?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Survivors," he answered, "caretakers now."

"Caretakers?" she frowned, and asking for confirmation of the image of the puzzle she was reassembling in her head said, "For the facility you maintain here?"

He nodded once, before answering her softly, "When I selected this planet for the construction of the facility there were few survivors, but they possessed knowledge of technology that is rarely seen. It made greater sense to assist them toward recovery and include them in my plans than… anything else."

"You became their benefactor," she said.

"And earned their loyalty," he confirmed, then turning to look at her as he came to a halt in the centre of the small knot of buildings, asked, "Is that such a terrible thing?"

She looked up at him, falling into the amber pools of his eyes that were creased with the ghost of pain; a craving for approval. Reaching for her mentally as his emotion, rarely close to the surface, wrapped around her, and she answered with the blossoming of sympathy through her small frame. She swallowed, shaking herself a little as she tore her gaze away.

"Of course not," she told him, knowing that she meant the words she said. "It was the right thing to do."

He nodded, a gesture of acceptance, rather than agreement, and she felt the brief flutter of soft relief that trickled through the bond, but did not have time to do more, as a small voice from behind her startled her out of the partial communion with Michael.

"We were not expecting you."

"Everything is secure?" Michael asked by way of greeting.

"And functioning at optimal efficiency," the man confirmed.

Michael nodded.

"My men have the supplies you requested," he said, and with a nod to the small party of men that had followed them, turned his attention to Teyla. "Come. We should go inside."

**

Even before they came within visual range of the town, the tale the Jumper's HUD was telling him did not fill Sheppard with either confidence or cheer.

"Oh my God, Sheppard, is that—" McKay broke off, pointing repeatedly as an ominously familiar shape resolved itself on the HUD showing the scan of the fields outside of the town.

"Hive," Sheppard said darkly. "Yep."

"But they—Where the hell did they come from? I thought—"

"Looks like your worries were pretty much on the money," Sheppard told him. "My guess would be that they somehow got their Queen off that Hive and…"

He trailed off, shrugging his shoulders, as McKay continued to gape at the HUD, and then through the window as their cloaked Jumper began to pass over the dark shape on the ground below.

"They got survivors off all right," McKay said at last, pointing through the front view screen. "Look! Wraith drones, guarding the ship."

"And more in the town," Sheppard peered beyond the field. "They were tipped off, they have to have been. Looks like they got a good number of their people off that ship before it blew. Damn it!"

"Well however they did it, they did, and whoever it is commanding these Wraith just sent four cruisers after Michael's people. If you want—"

Sheppard stopped listening, his heart constricting in his chest as, on the field, one of the Wraith, tall even for one of his kind, his long hair swinging as though weighted by something, looked up, almost directly at him. His blood crawled almost to a standstill as a chill spread through his body, recognition falling over him like a heavy blanket.

"Ah crap!" he breathed, and before he could be sure whether or not the Wraith truly saw him, he powered up the Jumper's thrusters and powered away toward the atmosphere, and the waiting _Daedalus_.

"Sheppard?" McKay asked, with a puzzled frown.

"We gotta get to Michael's people before he does," he murmured and for once was relieved when McKay didn't ask why.

**

Aware that she was watching him, Michael moved his fingers rapidly over the keys of the data terminal, accessing the results of the constant monitoring of the facility's many sensitive systems. He felt her trying to read him and paused for a moment, tilting his head in indecision. She came to his side in that moment and the lightest of touches brushed against his arm.

"Michael…" she began.

Anticipating her question, he turned from the terminal to face her, stepping out of her reach, and said, "It is here that the Cause will take the next step, Teyla."

"How?" He felt the shiver of fear that went through her as though they still touched, and not, as was the case, as if there were space between them. "What _is_ this place, Michael?"

"This," he said, spreading his arms to take in the room around them, "is where it begins. What you see here is just—" He spun suddenly, momentarily almost blinded by the biting, startled flare of fear that his demeanour had caused in Teyla as he turned on the hybrid that had entered the room. "Yes?"

"Several Wraith cruisers have dropped out of hyperspace on the edge of the system. Early indications strongly suggest their course will bring them within range of our facility."

"What!" Michael's face creased into a knotted frown as deep as the spasm of dread that twisted in his belly. "How did they find us?"

"I will find out," the hybrid answered, beginning to turn.

"No," Michael's voice rang out, halting the hybrid mid-turn. "Launch the cruisers from the fifth planet to intercept."

The hybrid left with a curtly nodded acknowledgement and calmed by the efficiency of his men, Michael turned again to face Teyla.

The fear he had felt through their bond was clearly written on her face and in the way she had once again wrapped her arms around herself. He took a breath and held out a hand, palm up, in her direction. She hesitated only for a moment before her hand slipped into his, allowing him to draw her closer.

"The warning came in time," he told her, pushing the confidence he felt in that fact along their bond. "It is an inconvenience, and may mean we have to leave sooner than I would have liked, but… that can't be helped."

His tone was clipped on the end of the sentence and he looked away for a moment before turning back to her and meeting her eyes slowly, he added, "If you would rather return to the ship—"

"No," she told him, interrupting his preferred suggestion. Her safety was paramount in his thoughts and while he did not expect that the Wraith would be a threat – secure in the ability of his protective counter measures – he did not wish for her to be put in harm's way.

She freed her hand from his light grasp and laid it, instead, in the middle of his chest.

"I will remain here with you," she said.

Michael swallowed the sudden rush of emotion that followed her words.

"As you wish," he said, including his head for the briefest of moments. As he did, he cautiously began to reach out along the distant edges of the Wraith neural network. If she would stay, then he must ensure the correctness of his belief that Teyla would remain safe.

**

"Sheppard, either you've completely lost your mind or you know something I don't. Either way I'm not comfortable with this," Caldwell snapped as he entered the conference room.

"As military commander of Atlantis—" He started, turning to face the _Daedalus'_ commander, drawing himself up to his full height and squaring up, ready for a figurative battle.

Caldwell held up his hand instantly defusing Sheppard's fighting instinct as he said, "Oh, I'll follow your orders, John. I just wanted you to know that it's with a good deal of reservation."

"Noted," He said curtly. "Now, what have we got?"

"Marks can't get a clear sensor result," Caldwell said, his face fixed in an unhappy frown. "He says McKay's best guess is that something in the system is sending out some kind of interference."

"So what you're saying is that we'll be going in—"

"Blind, yeah," Caldwell said.

"Can we overshoot the edge of the system?" Sheppard asked, looking at the battle grid set up on the translucent screen in the centre of the conference room. "That _was_ the last known position of the Wraith cruisers we're following."

"It's a risky proposition," Caldwell said, shaking his head and pointing at a spot just outside the system instead. "We'd be much better coming out here and going in sub-light. That way there'll be no nasty surprises."

Sheppard, in turn, shook his own head.

"Look," he said, "we know for certain there are at least four Wraith cruisers somewhere in that system. Assuming Michael's people are there we can count on at least one… maybe two more," he shrugged, "who knows. What I do know is that we can't afford to get caught up in their fight. I was hoping to let them distract one another while we sneak in and steal the baby right from under their noses."

"That's your plan?" Caldwell's voice was not without a little incredulity in its tone.

Sheppard ignored his tone, looking at this system laid out on the battle-screen, and shivering a little, drawing into himself as he forced himself to try and get into Michael's head and work out just where – if he were the Wraith-Human hybrid – he would choose to go…

…_to know that it's me she calls for…_

"There!" he retorted and jabbed his finger on an open sector of space. "We come out there, head for the second planet. That's where they are."

Caldwell looked at him doubtingly for a moment before he sighed heavily.

"All right," he said, his tone resigned. "I just hope you know what you're doing."

**

It did not take long for Michael to realise that he had underestimated the danger in remaining any longer as the press of the Wraith neural net grew to more than a niggling ache in the back of his mind. They were closer now, in spite of his counter measures. He had overlooked something. What?

Turning his mind aside from the still present push of his former brothers he reached along his own mental pathways to find the commander of his lead cruiser. The sense of dislocation caught him for a moment before he settled to look on the mess of the forward view screen through the hybrid's eyes. His cruisers had been caught by not one, but two incoming fleets of cruisers, and a single Hive, which lay easily within range for the Wraith scanners to pick up the energy readings his facility gave off when they were not inactive.

Seething in frustration, but knowing he had no choice but to retreat from the system and return when the Wraith were well and truly diverted from exploration anywhere near the second world, his head snapped up from the console he had been working and he announced softly, but firmly.

"We must leave."

Automatically he worked to secure the systems into their dormant state once more. No sense in making it easy for the Wraith to discover what was hidden in the heart of the former Devian homeworld, if they had not already detected the facility, but his thoughts were dark, and growing more ominous with each passing moment. He turned partially to face Teyla as she came to his side, when the few hybrids that were with them began to efficiently pack up the equipment that was only partially deployed, and to head toward the doorway.

"What is it?" she asked.

"They are coming," he said simply, and without another moment of preamble, began to usher her after the already departed hybrids.

**

Sheppard stumbled, and made a grab for the back of the con officer's chair as the deck beneath his feet lurched.

"Damn it!" Caldwell hissed, and reflexively threw up an arm in front of his face as the brightness of an explosion bathed the flight deck in a ruddy orange glow. "Shields up!" He turned his head to Sheppard then, and Sheppard saw the 'I told you so' in the other man's eyes even before the words issued forth in an earnest tirade. "I told you this was a bad idea, Sheppard!"

The deck rocked again as a salvo of fire from one of the Wraith cruisers impacted _Daedalus'_ shielded hull and from beside the cruiser, several needle-nosed Darts came screaming toward them.

"Save the 'told you so' for another time, Steven," Sheppard called, flinching and raising his voice to be heard over the rush of the fire suppression system that had activated behind him as a panel exploded. "I suggest we concentrate on getting us out of here."

"I'm open to suggestions," Caldwell snapped, gesturing to the HUD that now graced the space in front of the forward view screen, "because as far as I can tell, we bypassed the frying pan and leaped straight into the fire."

Sheppard peered at the sensor readings that intermittently ghosted in and out of theatre as the interference from whatever in the system was causing it strengthened and faded in turn.

_Daedalus_ had come out of hyperspace right into the middle of the fighting, and all around, Wraith and hybrid forces alike were turning their way.

"We have no choice," he said gravely. "We gotta launch the F302s."

**

Michael's rapid steps had carried him ahead of the others, and he frowned deeply as he saw Rissek walking ahead of two other hybrids, leading a battered and bleeding prisoner between them. Michael came to a halt, holding out his arm slightly to signal a stop to the others behind him.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded of his lieutenant.

"This one's Dart was forced down on the fifth planet as the cruisers launched. He was captured trying to infiltrate the holding facility there. He carries information I believe you will wish to hear."

Rissek signalled to the other hybrids, and the two of them dragged the struggling Wraith between them to stand before Michael.

"Abomination!" the Wraith sub-commander spat, struggling with the hybrids holding him even more.

"Let him go," Michael said coldly, tilting his head as he looked on the representative of his enemy.

The Wraith snarled and as soon as he was free, made a lunge toward Michael. His feeding hand mantled and he drew back his arm, but Michael stood unflinching, his head still tilted in an attitude of curiosity. Teyla called his name, the concern in her voice more than clear, but he ignored her, instead reaching out mentally to wrap his mind around that of the Wraith.

The soft hiss that escaped him was the only thing that belied Michael's utter calm, and the mantling Wraith froze, as if grasped by some kind of invisible force field, unable to lay even the tip of one finger on Michael.

"Release me," the angered Wraith demanded, snarling against the obvious pain that twisted his features.

_-on whose orders do you do this?- -on whose orders?- -whose orders?-_

The Wraith sub-commander fought the mental intrusion, his whole body beginning to shake as Michael pushed still harder when he did not answer.

"Release me!" he growled again, adding with an increasingly desperate tone to the snarl in the back of his throat, "You will die here!"

Gathering the cold fury around him like a cloak, Michael stepped forward, pushing mentally until the anguished Wraith fell to his knees.

"I do not think so," Michael said icily, and before the Wraith could fight back against his mental intrusion, he wrapped his long white hair around his hand and pulled back until the Wraith's throat was exposed. His next words rumbled against the subjugated Wraith's face. "I asked you a question."

The sub-commander tried to laugh, until Michael tightened his grasp and pulled back his head still further, when he snarled again. "She will destroy you! She is coming for you!"

Michael snarled loudly, leonine in sound and forced the contact of his mind past the sub-commander's failing mental shields…

…_The Queen walked along the row of kneeling Humans. Like a serpent she tilted her head first one way and then the other. The bone beads in her hair rattled together and the whisper of her silken dresses on the grass lent her an even more majestic air._

_The sub-commander raised his eyes from the ground to watch her magnificence as she selected her next candidate for presentation to the almost completed Hive…_

The ghost of the Elder Queen's touch in the sub-commander's mind startled Michael, and his cold fury heated to searing heat in an instant. She had survived. She would hunt – but not him. This he knew.

Behind him, even as he began to reach for her mentally, Teyla began to move toward him.

"No!" he almost roared and pushed the command even as he spoke it to his hybrids; doubly urgent as the subtle pre-sound vibrations of inbound Darts began to tingle in the air. "Take her back inside!"

**

She tried to resist as the hybrids' hands closed on her arms and began to exert a backward pressure on her; to draw her away from Michael. She tried to reach him, but their bond yielded only the chill of his anger and underlying protective fear – which frightened _her_ more.

Finally, nearing tears, she stopped fighting and though she shook off the hybrids' touch at last, she turned and walked ahead of them back inside the compound. Noting that they escorted her only as far as the doorway before peeling off to stand as silent guardians, one either side.

**

Michael growled as he gave a final twitch of his hand in the Wraith's hair, snapping his neck and pushing him away in the same movement, then he rounded on Rissek, letting the full force of his anger find expression in his words and the tone in which he addressed his lieutenant.

"How did this happen? How did she find us?" He stepped toward the hybrid, who took a step backward as Michael further snarled. "Your oversight is unforgivable. I should have been informed."

"Their arrival here was the first knowledge I had of her continued existence," the hybrid said quickly. "As soon as I knew I brought you the news. I—"

"Led them right to me – to _us_."

"Forgive me, I—"

"There's no more time," Michael interrupted. "Take my scout ship and try and draw them away from this area. If anything happens, I will hold you _personally_ responsible."

"Of course. I—"

"Go!"

_-Antedar, take the Hive to hyperspace. Remain away until I send for you-_

Already dismissing his former lieutenant as a lost cause, and hardly expecting him to be able to do as he had been ordered, Michael gathered the rest of the hybrids, and followed Teyla into the facility. They would need to move quickly to avoid detection. He could not afford to lose what lay beneath the superficial exterior laboratory, and if needs be – if, to save this vitally important resource, he had to move it – he would.

***

Act 5

Malcolm paused as he stood at the edge of the field on which the New Hive finally stood ready. Come daybreak the Hive would leave; was already fully operational and once they left he knew that the Queen meant to follow her cruisers and take steps to attempt to eliminate the former Wraith scientist's remaining followers – to rid the galaxy of his influence for good.

He sighed. For reasons he could not explain, he did not at all expect it could possibly be that easy. There was an uneasy feeling gnawing at the back of his mind; something telling him those things he had seen in the mind of the other would yet come to pass, and there would be little – or nothing – he or any other could do to prevent it.

The breeze rippled in what remained of the grasses at the edge of the field, and for a moment he thought his ruffled imagination had conjured the breathy sobs that began to resolve in his hearing.

Tilting his head he started out toward the sound, reaching toward the mind he could almost feel at the far edge of the field, bordering the wood. As his mind engaged, believing he would find the tattered remnants of a terrified worshipper seeking escape, the unease spiralled away, becoming the sharp edge of elation mixed with an almost mortal dread.

_{…Isla…}_

A short, sharp cry of distress split the air as his communication reached her and he doubled his pace until he could drop to a crouch before the foetal ball the woman had made of herself; reaching for her.

"Lord, no!" she cried.

"Peace, Isla," he told her, taking in her appearance as he tried to coax her to rise. The cuts and scrapes worried him, but the raw and open feeding mark on her chest kindled began to stir a deeper emotion. He forced his rising anger away and continued reaching for her. "All is well now. Come with me."

He drew in a shocked breath when she tried to push him away as his hands closed around her arms to draw her to her feet. Surprised, and off balance, he had to step back, or fall.

"No, you must not," she told him. "I have wronged you… Betrayed—" She broke off, instead of finishing her sentence reached for the ruined edges of her dress and ripped the bodice still further, exposing herself to him, and spreading her arms in obedient supplication.

"Stupid girl," he snapped, and then clamped a hand around her upper arm. "What is the meaning of this?"

Her own fingers locked around his wrist, halting him once more as she sobbed, "Take me, Lord – finish your undeserved servant's life, for I have wronged you. Wronged _all _Wraith."

**

"Michael…" Teyla could not help the feelings of relief that flooded her as he came back inside. He cut off whatever else she might have said, catching her elbow and drawing her with him deeper into the facility. "What are you doing?"

She struggled against his grip but it was uncompromising, and she had to almost run to keep up with him as he walked the both of them rapidly along grey corridors that flashed past with dizzying speed.

"Michael, stop…"

He did not. Not until they came to the bottom of a steeply sloping corridor cut into rock that ended in a familiar organic looking doorway. Breathing hard, partly in anger, mostly in fear and worry, she finally pulled away from him.

"Do not _ever_—"

"I apologise," he cut her off softly, "It was necessary to reach this place rapidly. Taking the time to explain would have endangered you; endangered us all."

Teyla swallowed, completely derailed by his apology. She blinked at him and asked more softly, "Where are we?"

"Our reason for being here is beyond this doorway. The hidden, secret facility that is of vital importance to our Cause is not the laboratory above us, but this," he said, and palmed open the door.

The faint, ozone scent of recycled air washed over her as the doorway spiralled outward to admit them to the dark walled, blue lit hallway within.

"Another Hive?" she asked, confusion filling the space in her mind where Michael wasn't. She looked at him as he shook his head.

"Not… quite," he said, leading her further in. She could feel the life, and the energy of the facility both through the vibration from the organic floor, and from the whisper of its consciousness at the edge of the bond she shared with Michael.

"I… I do not understand," she said honestly.

"Wait," he told her simply.

Suddenly cold, Teyla pulled the coat more tightly around herself as she followed him, and realisation of where she was, and the function of the place began to seep into her awareness. When they finally reached the main chamber she was almost trembling with it.

"He said there were no more of these," she said, her eyes scanning the empty chambers – and one or two that were not.

"He?" Michael queried, with a frown.

"Todd," Teyla said. "When we destroyed the facility the Queen was using to increase the size of her army, he—"

"He lied," Michael snapped. His words overlapped hers, though he added after a moment, "However, this particular facility, I built myself."

Michael took a breath, and gestured with his hand toward a door on the far side of the chamber and said, "If you are to be comfortable, allow me to show you to quarters where you may rest. We might be here some considerable time before I can allow the Hive to return for us."

"You… sent them away?" she swallowed again.

"It was necessary in order to ensure the safety of your son, and the integrity of my research." Michael turned his head to look at her. "They will return when I send for them."

"But if the Wraith—" she began, and shook her head.

"You do not believe I would willingly walk into a situation from which I had no chance of withdrawing," he fixed her with a frank and fervent golden stare, "or that I would allow you to do so?"

"No, I—"

"Come then," he began to lead her through the chamber. "You should rest."

Teyla swallowed hard and turned her gaze outward and slowly looked around at the extent of Michael's cloning facility. Deep in her belly, a little knotted whirl of something alike to hope began to stir.

It was a very painful feeling.

**

"I'll be all right, lad," Beckett said softly, "You can wait outside."

The SO hesitated for a moment, then nodded to the doctor and stepped outside leaving Beckett as alone with the prisoner as he was ever going to be allowed to be.

Prisoner… Beckett shook his head. When did he start thinking of Evan that way?

Sighing, he raised his head to look properly on the immobile figure within the cell, taking in the sight of his pale skin; the indentations on his cheeks, barely formed, but enough to make the once familiar friend seem alien… unreachable.

"What do you want, Doctor?"

He was so focussed on his visual examination of the hybrid-Lorne that when Lorne spoke, he jumped, stifling the little gasp the motion brought from his lungs.

"I think we both know why I'm here, Major," he answered, swallowing back his hesitancy.

Lorne turned his head slowly, tilting it to the side to fix Beckett with an almost lazy pale eyed stare. Then after a moment longer, and much to the doctor's increased discomfort, Lorne put back his head and laughed.

"Major?" he chuckled. "You alone of all Atlantis would still call me that."

"Because I know this isn't your fault," Beckett said quickly.

Lorne regarded him again coolly and said, "No, Doctor. You still call me Major to assuage your _own_ conscience."

Beckett couldn't help but cringe as Lorne's measured, well aimed remark hit a little too close to the mark.

"I'm no proud of what I've done, no," he admitted finally, "but—"

"Why not?" Lorne asked, tilting his head the other way as he looked Beckett up and down. "You were instrumental in delivering the single-most powerful individual in this galaxy to his destiny. You should—"

"That's Michael talking, not you," he interrupted.

"I'm merely stating the truth, Doctor," Lorne answered.

Lorne stared at him until pins and needles began to creep into Beckett's hands and arms, and he realised, belatedly, that he was digging his own fingernails into his folded upper arms. He unfolded them, trying to shrug some feeling back into his digits.

"Why are you here, Doctor Beckett?" Lorne asked again.

A long silence followed, one that Beckett hardly dare disturb with the question that lingered in his mind, chilling the very fabric of his belief. When at last he spoke his voice trembled audibly.

"He's still alive, isn't he?" he asked, "Somehow he managed to survive the Wraith, and the destruction of that Hive."

Lorne blinked slowly, long enough to give a moment when he stood with his eyes closed. When he opened them again, his gaze pierced deeper into Beckett's soul than any other living thing yet might.

Dismissively he said, "You are as much his creature as am I." Then more darkly said, "You already know the answer to that question."

Swallowing, Beckett stepped closer to the bars and lowering his voice to a near whisper, said, "And supposing someone wanted to… to speak with him…?"

Lorne frowned, tilting his head as though the question confused him, though Beckett could clearly see understanding in his eyes. Then, for the second time… Lorne laughed.

**

_She could feel the explosions that were striking the ground outside, and through the window the occasional bright flash showed brilliant against the darkness. Teyla was afraid._

_The sound of the door latch lifting, and then the door scraping against the floor of the room, pulled her eyes away from her fearful watch through the thick, frosted windows. She looked up sullenly as the door opened, expecting Michael. Instead she gasped in surprise as Kanaan came in._

_"Kanaan," she said, and in her mind she harboured a hope that perhaps he had come to bring her from this place of clinical coldness, and rusted walls._

_"Stay where you are," he told her. "You must rest as much as necessary in case we are forced to leave quickly."_

_"We can leave __**now**__, Kanaan," she said, and started to reach for the side of the blanket that covered her. "Take me to where he is keeping our son, and the three of us can leave together. My friends can help you, they—"_

_"Your __**friends**__ are the cause of all this," he said, and after pointedly closing the door, he gestured toward the windows. "They have led the Wraith too close to this position."_

She woke with a start to a silence that was suffocating. Its thick, heavy pall lay over everything, feeding the fear that had begun to grow inside of her as she had realised that many of the precautions that Michael was taking, many of his actions in the last forty-eight hours had been to ensure that, if the Wraith were not drawn away by the many decoys and blinds he had planted to lead them astray, she, and her son, would remain safe.

When she reached for the bond, she felt his concern, his fear echoing and magnifying her own, and the pressure of it wrapped a longing around her that was just as terrifying – perhaps more so, as she found herself more and more often reaching for the memory of a brief moment of peace…

…_both breathless, he sank onto her, and she into the security of his arms…_

…she sighed shakily and her confused emotions manifested into a single teardrop that whispered through cracks in her denial of them… of him.

Movement in the doorway to her quarters caught her attention, and she looked up to find the object of her thoughts regarding her with a tired softness in his eyes.

"Michael," she breathed his name in a tone to match his expression.

He swallowed, and looked away from her for a moment before he brought his eyes to once more meet with hers and said, "I wanted you to be reassured that all is well. It will be a time before we are able to leave here, or before we are forced to take a more… direct action."

"I understand," she told him quietly. "A time of calm before the coming of a storm."

"Perhaps," he admitted, taking half a step inside the door before stopping.

"It is all right," she told him. "You can come in."

Michael shook his head and she found tears coming to her eyes at his denial.

"There is work that I should attend to," he told her. "I came to ask only if there is anything that you need."

Teyla looked up and met his eyes.

_To be continued…_


End file.
